


Erasure

by MiaCooper



Series: Parallels [3]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Gen, Parallel Universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6467146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaCooper/pseuds/MiaCooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voyager limps through alien space, pursued by a relentless enemy. With the crew split apart, stranded officers turn to each other, strangers must be made into allies, and suspicions arise that a traitor may be working from the inside. But fates can change in breathtaking ways.</p><p>Addendum:<br/>You’ll note that thanks to their moderately successful use of the Sikarian spatial trajector, Voyager has managed to bypass Borg space without encountering the Collective, and other events that happened in the series between "Prime Factors" and "Year of Hell" have also been bypassed. (I did say this was a parallel universe.) I’ve also taken some liberties with the timeline, but not as many as Annorax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Calculation

**Author's Note:**

> Heavy misuse of "Year of Hell".

**Prologue: Stardate 48735.1**  
  
The grey-green globe of the planet designated Element K-Epsilon-105 filled the timeship’s viewscreen. As was his custom, Annorax paused to reflect upon its inhabitants, its natural and man-wrought wonders, its unique and treasured culture. He had chosen its mementoes based on study of these and was pleased that they ably represented what was soon to be lost forever. It was strange, or perhaps not strange at all, that this impending loss no longer caused him much regret.  
  
He addressed his first officer. “Begin temporal incursion.”  
  
Obrist nodded and his fingers began their practised dance. A beam of white light surged from the timeship’s emitters and targeted the planet’s core. Annorax watched from behind steepled fingers as the energy pulse enveloped the planet. From this distance no change was visible to the planet’s surface once the white light had passed over it and emanated into the surrounding space, but he watched the procession of data superimposed over the image on the viewscreen with satisfaction. When it was over, Obrist spoke.  
  
“Temporal incursion is complete. All organisms and man-made objects have been eradicated.”  
  
“Probe the continuum,” Annorax ordered. “Has our target event been achieved?”  
  
After a moment Obrist looked up from his console. Frustration was evident in the shake of his head. “Negative. Negative target event. We have achieved a seventy-four percent reversion. I don’t understand, sir. We spent months making these calculations.”  
  
Annorax’s composure never faltered as he turned back to the viewscreen. “Time is patient, Obrist,” he murmured, “so we must be patient with it. Eradicating a single Zahl colony wasn’t enough for a total restoration. We have to work on a larger scale.” He stood and turned to his bridge crew, addressing them all. “Take us to the Zahl homeworld. Prepare a new set of calculations. We must erase the entire species from time. Every lifeform. Every molecule.”  
  
He heard the expected chorus of assent as he made his way across the bridge to his office. At the food dispenser he called for a cup of aminberry tea and, as was his ritual, turned to his viewport to silently toast the lost civilisation, then sat at his desk to study the data from this latest incursion. It was, indeed, the closest they had come to total reversion; an almost laudable success. Almost.  
  
Almost was, in this as in all things, insufficient.  
  
Annorax pulled his personal console toward him and began work on the next set of calculations.  
  
=/\=  
  
**Part One: Calculation**  
  
**Stardate 48742.7**  
  
**– Day 1 -**  
  
Tom Paris was bored.  
  
For two weeks following the jump from Sikaris, Voyager had crawled her way through unfamiliar space so as not to tax engines or warp core, while Torres and her engineers repaired the damage caused by the spatial trajector and the Stellar Cartography team worked around the clock mapping their upcoming route.  
  
For two weeks after that, they’d remained in orbit of an M-class planet inhabited by a friendly species willing to trade with Voyager so they could replenish the ship’s parts and the crew’s food supplies.  
  
For the past month, they had sailed through a sparsely-populated region of space, their only excitement being an encounter with a Class 9 nebula that got Janeway all hyped up and insistent that they detour to study it. Paris couldn’t see the attraction in a big cloud of gas himself, but whatever got you through the night.  
  
And now they’d made contact with the Zahl, another species willing to allow Voyager to travel unmolested through their space, and Captain Chakotay had agreed to their terms, which included no detouring to investigate anything interesting, no avoiding the Zahl’s frequent security checkpoints, and definitely no away missions. Tom Paris was suffering from a bad case of cabin fever.  
  
He knew well enough that boredom tended to be his undoing; it always had. He’d start by increasing his smart-ass quotient to get a rise out of people. Dad-baiting, his sisters used to call it, because in his teens his father had most usually been the target of Tom’s needling, but as he’d proven in the years since, any authority figure would do. Then he’d start seeking out ever-riskier pursuits in his search for entertainment, typically gravitating to anything he could fly or drive very fast. Eventually he’d graduate to full-out self-destructive behaviour. Bars, girls, drugs, fights; whatever it took to shake up the monotony and get out of his head for a while. By that point, as he also knew well enough, he’d usually smashed anything good in his life to smithereens. Usually by that point he didn’t really care, or at least told himself he didn’t. This time around, he cared. A lot.  
  
But if he had to sit here in his silent quarters trying to read the novel he’d borrowed from Harry Kim for one minute longer he’d go batshit crazy. Paris threw the book onto the low table beside his couch in disgust. “Computer, what time is it?”  
  
~The time is 2036 hours.~  
  
Paris groaned. He’d only come off shift two hours ago; he’d eaten dinner, if you could dignify it with the word, in the mess hall, given Culhane some tips on shuttle manoeuvrability, stood in line for dessert with pretty little Celes and indulged in a little light flirtation, borrowed the book from Kim and excused himself to go to his quarters and read, like a good little Starfleet officer. He wasn’t even remotely tired – the thing about travelling peacefully through space was that you got to catch up on your missed sleep – and he was bored. So very, very bored. Paris threw on his uniform jacket and went in search of entertainment.  
  
Sandrine’s Bar was running on the holodeck. It amused him slightly that despite the crew taking their time to warm up to him, they’d had no problem getting comfortable with his holoprogram. Ten months into their travels, he had yet to reach the point where he felt easy with anyone but Harry Kim, and maybe Kes, although Neelix’s suspicions of his motives meant he could never fully relax around her. Paris checked the holodeck console; the readout told him that Ensign Hogan had activated the program an hour or so earlier. Hogan was former Maquis, but he was okay. He’d even made a point of taking a seat at Tom’s otherwise empty table in the mess hall after the incident with Jonas and Henley in his quarters; a show of silent support that Paris had not forgotten. Paris opened the holodeck doors and strolled in.  
  
A burst of raucous laughter washed over him and Tom squinted into the low light. He could make out the usual holo-characters milling around, Kaplan and Jetal playing a leisurely pool game, and a table of crewmembers over by the fireplace. Hogan, Henley, Bendera, Jarvin… and Janeway. There were glasses both half-full and empty on their table. All five of them were in off-duty clothes. And all five of them were bent almost double, leaning on each other, wheezing with laughter. Paris couldn’t help staring. Kathryn Janeway in fits of genuine mirth was not something he’d ever imagined he’d see. She was radiant, and her laughter was infectious, and without realising it he broke into a grin and moved toward her table.  
  
Henley was the first to see him. “Hey, Paris,” she called, her voice still bubbling with laughter. “Come join us. We were just remembering old times.”  
  
There was something not completely kind in her voice, but Tom pulled a chair up anyway, between Hogan and Bendera. “Old times?”  
  
Henley gestured vaguely around the room. “This place. Kinda reminds us of that waterhole on Nivoch. You remember that, right?”  
  
Paris felt the smile fade from his face and tried to keep it plastered there. He remembered Nivoch, all right, the planet in the DMZ where Janeway had set the ship down for repairs, and had, he assumed, met her control for new instructions and information. He remembered the Liberty crew treating it as a place of refuge, somewhere they could let down their guard – and their hair – after months of heated battles and cold comfort. He remembered being invited to tag along to the bar, remembered feeling part of the crew for the first time. And he remembered getting insanely, revoltingly, gut-wrenchingly drunk and picking a fight with someone whose face or words or tone he misliked. Fortunately he didn’t remember much of what happened after he threw the first punch, but Jarvin and Henley had wasted no time filling him in the next morning. Janeway, Ayala and Bendera had shown up at the bar just in time to find their pilot being beaten to a pulp and thrown gasping and vomiting into the gutter outside. Perhaps the worst part of it was that it had been Janeway who’d stripped off his rancid, soiled clothing, shoved him into the sonic shower and put him to bed.  
  
Henley had started giggling again. “The look on Ayala’s face when he realised he was going to have to carry you back to the ship …”  
  
Jarvin snorted into his drink. Tom felt his face burn. Nothing he liked better than walking into a room to find everyone had been having a whole lot of fun at his expense. Although, at least Hogan and Bendera weren’t laughing anymore. And Janeway … He shot her a sidelong glance. She wasn’t laughing either. In fact she looked downright ashamed.  
  
“I’ll say one thing for you, Paris,” Henley went on. “You may have been a Starfleet traitor but you sure knew how to liven up a party.”  
  
“Enough.” It was one word, spoken softly, but there was no mistaking the finality in Janeway’s tone.  
  
Henley looked at her in surprise, but she shut up immediately. An awkward silence fell.  
  
Bendera cleared his throat, and the interruption gave Paris the impetus to scrape his chair back and stand. “Well, thanks for the memories. I’m due on the bridge, so …” He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.  
  
He was halfway down the corridor when he heard her calling him, and stopped. Janeway caught up to him and he faced her with what he hoped was a face scrubbed clean of expression. “Paris,” she said again, then hesitated. Tom said “It’s okay, Commander. I’m used to it.”  
  
“It’s _not_ okay,” she said fiercely, and they both looked surprised at the heat in her tone. “What I mean is, you came in at the wrong time. I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay,” he said again, softer.  
  
To his surprise, she smiled at him. “You’re not due on the bridge.”  
  
“No,” he admitted. “But making my excuses seemed like a good idea.”  
  
To his even greater surprise, Janeway put a hand on his arm. “I could use a coffee. If you’re not busy, join me in the mess hall?”  
  
It was the first time she’d actually initiated a conversation with him that wasn’t about ships’ systems or flight plans since, well, ever. Usually, she tolerated his presence, accepted their exchanges with equanimity, if not exactly friendliness. Tom wasn’t about to knock her back. “Yes, sir,” he replied smartly, and they made their way to the mess hall.  
  
  
**Stardate 48746.2**  
  
**– Day 4 -**  
  
~Senior officers to the bridge.~  
  
The ship rocked gently as Janeway hurried to the turbolift, tucking a misbehaving lock of hair into her chignon. “Bridge,” she told the lift, and stepped out onto deck one. “They’re back, then,” she remarked to Chakotay as she took her seat beside him. The small Krenim ship had been shadowing them for two days, popping out of warp occasionally to throw a bit of ineffectual phaser fire at Voyager and bellow at the Captain for violating Krenim space.  
  
Chakotay raised an eyebrow at her. “Two ships this time. Still, pretty bold of them to attack us while the Zahl are close by.” He gestured at the viewport. The sprawling grey Zahl cruiser hung to Voyager’s starboard; Janeway checked her console and saw that its shields were up and weapons powered but hadn’t yet been fired. Two Krenim vessels, dwarfed by comparison, held position to port. As she watched, phasers spurted from one of them. “Shields at ninety-four percent,” Ensign Kim reported from behind her.  
  
“That’s enough. Hail them.” Chakotay stood as the outraged face of the Krenim captain appeared on screen. “You have violated Krenim space,” he began predictably, and Chakotay held up an impatient hand. “So you keep informing us, Captain. Evidence would suggest that this is in fact Zahl space. In any case, we have no argument with you.”  
  
“You consort with our enemy,” the Krenim said furiously. “That is reason enough to attack you. Leave our space or you will be destr-“  
  
Kim cut him off. “The Zahl are hailing, Captain.”  
  
Chakotay nodded at him and the irate Krenim commander was replaced onscreen with the exasperated face of Levath, the Zahl official they’d been in talks with for the past few days. “Can we offer assistance, Captain Chakotay?”  
  
He shook his head. “Thank you, we have it under control. But it might be best to move on before we’re forced to defend ourselves.” He quirked a corner of his mouth; the Krenim could batter Voyager with fire for the next hour and barely make a dent in their shields.  
  
Levath nodded. “I’m sending you the coordinates of our homeworld. Set a course and we can reconvene –“  
  
“Captain!” Harry Kim interrupted again, urgently this time. “There’s a spatial distortion heading toward us. Whatever it is, it’s huge. Five light years across and expanding.”  
  
“Tracking its origin,” Tuvok said. “A vessel near the Zahl homeworld.”  
  
“What?” Levath demanded.  
  
“It appears to be a massive build-up of temporal energy,” Tuvok continued. “Some kind of space-time shock wave.”  
  
“Tom.” Chakotay didn’t need to say anything more.  
  
“It’s destabilising our warp field,” Paris reported, fingers flying on the conn. “I’ve lost engines.”  
  
Chakotay snapped out orders. “Shields to full. Secure primary systems. All hands, brace for impact –“  
  
And then the wave hit.  
  
Kathryn Janeway found herself thrown to the floor for what she estimated was the forty-seventh time that week. She pushed herself to her knees and surveyed the bridge. It looked even worse than after the last attack. Lights dimmed and flickered. Consoles sizzled and sparked. Crewmen were pulling themselves to their stations, some bleeding; Harry Kim was nursing a broken wrist. To her right, Ensign Lang lay prone and still. Janeway crawled to her and checked for a pulse. “She’s dead,” she murmured, and looked into Chakotay’s eyes. She saw the flash of emotion before he pulled himself to his feet and barked, “Report.”  
  
“Shields at seventeen percent,” Tuvok told him. “The Krenim are hailing.”  
  
“It’s about time,” Chakotay muttered. The viewscreen changed from the image of the large Krenim warship to the face of its captain. Chakotay addressed him abruptly. “We’ve done nothing to provoke these attacks.”  
  
The Krenim captain smiled superciliously. “Your presence in our space is provocation enough. State your identity.”  
  
“Captain Chakotay of the Federa-“  
  
“And your reason for violating our borders?” The alien turned idly in his chair, inspecting his fingernails. Chakotay tamped down his anger. “We’re simply trying to get home. If you’d kindly allow us to pass through –“  
  
“No.” The Krenim smiled as he faced Chakotay on the viewscreen. “You will submit to the Krenim Imperium. Lower your shields and prepare to be boarded.”  
  
Janeway watched Chakotay’s eyes go black and silently thanked the universe that she wasn’t on the receiving end of that look. “I will not surrender this ship to you,” he said, and his voice was soft and deadly.  
  
The Krenim captain appeared unimpressed. “Then prepare to be destroyed.”  
  
The screen blinked off. “They are charging weapons,” Tuvok warned, a second before a Krenim torpedo rocked the ship. “Shields are down.”  
  
“Why are their torpedoes ripping right through our shields?” Janeway demanded.  
  
“Chronitons,” Kim blurted, his broken wrist forgotten. “Their weapons are in a state of temporal flux.”  
  
“Paris, do we have engines?” Chakotay demanded, and Paris called out in the affirmative. “Then get us the hell out of here. Warp six.”

  The stars became streaks and Paris reported that the Krenim were not pursuing. Tuvok read out the damage: one dead, fifteen wounded, environmental controls offline on three decks, hull fracture on Deck 10. Chakotay nodded curtly. “We need a defence against those torpedoes. Analyse the data and work with Mr Kim, after he’s reported to Sickbay.” He turned to Janeway. “You have the bridge. Organise repair teams and send me the effort estimates.”  
  
The captain cast one last look around the ruined bridge and disappeared into his ready room.  
  
=/\=  
  
“You were correct, sir.” Obrist was almost quivering with excitement. “Erasing the Zahl homeworld has produced a complete temporal restoration.”  
  
Annorax levelled a look at him. “Complete, Obrist? What were the exact results?”  
  
“The Krenim Imperium has been restored to power. Our territory now includes 849 inhabited worlds spanning five thousand parsecs.” His voice rang with pride.  
  
“Counterindications?”  
  
“None so far. No superior enemy forces. No unexpected diseases. Calculations indicate a ninety-eight percent restoration. Our race is thriving once more.”  
  
Annorax reached out to the glass pyramid on his desk and touched it lightly. Inside was suspended a lock of auburn hair; it caught the light as his fingertips shifted the pyramid. “The colony at Kyana Prime?” he asked quietly.  
  
“No sir.” The elation ebbed from Obrist’s voice. “In this timeline, the Imperium does not extend that far.”  
  
“Then we have failed. Begin calculations for the next incursion.”  
  
“Sir!” Obrist’s voice rang again, but this time with panic. “We have just accomplished the impossible. Another incursion could undermine everything. We should dismantle this weapon and rejoin our people.”  
  
“ _No_.” Annorax pushed himself to his feet. “Not until every colony, every individual, every blade of grass is restored. Until then our task will never be complete.”  
  
“Sir, you said yourself that we can never achieve complete restoration. We have been manipulating the timeline for two centuries and we have never before come this close. We should be satisfied with this accomplishment.”  
  
“You surprise me, Obrist.” Annorax’s voice was flat. “After all these years, you still perceive time through conventional eyes. We can stay here on this vessel, protected from space-time, for all eternity. And we will stay until I order otherwise. Now, return to your station, and begin a new set of calculations. Is that clear?”  
  
“Perfectly.” Obrist watched him for another moment with opaque eyes, then turned and left the room.  
  
  
**Stardate 48779.4**  
  
**\- Day 32 -**  
  
“Transverse bulkheads,” Kim explained earnestly. “We’ve set up a latticework of emergency forcefields between every section of every deck. In the event of a cataclysmic breach we can contain the blast and most of us will be protected.”  
  
“Ingenious.” Chakotay studied the schematic. “What gave you the idea?”  
  
“Actually, Tom came up with it.” Kim stepped back to let his friend take the credit.  
  
“I was inspired by the Titanic,” Paris grinned. “Its engineers constructed a honeycomb of bulkheads that would lower into place if they had a major hull breach. Theoretically, the ship could have stayed afloat even if half the decks were filled with water.”  
  
“The Titanic?” Janeway quirked an eyebrow. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t it sink?”  
  
“Let’s just say I’ve made a few 24th-century improvements,” Paris said modestly.  
  
“Well done, Mr Paris.” Chakotay turned to Tuvok. “How about the temporal shielding?”  
  
“Mr Kim and I are making progress. However, until we can determine the exact temporal variance of the Krenim’s torpedoes, we will be unable to perfect the shields.”  
  
“Keep working on it,” the captain replied, just as the lighting in the conference room washed red and the alert klaxon sounded.  
  
“Guess they’re playing our song,” Paris muttered to nobody as the senior officers bolted for the bridge.  
  
=/\=  
  
“Lieutenant Torres. What a pleasant surprise to see you here. It must be at least, oh, two days since your last visit to my Sickbay.”  
  
Torres glared. “You know, Doc, seeing as I spend so much time here, maybe I could make a few improvements to your program. I could start by deleting a few personality subroutines.”  
  
“Now, now, there’s no need for threats,” the EMH admonished, pointing a medical tricorder at her. “You have a torn hamstring, a dislocated shoulder and,” he paused, raising an eyebrow, “a broken clavicle. I understand there is a happy superstition attached to such an injury sustained in particular, shall we say, _amorous_ circumstances. Anything you want to tell me, Lieutenant?”  
  
“Shut your holographic mouth or I’ll take your matrix apart with a hyperspanner and flush it out the waste extraction conduits.”  
  
“An eloquent, if not entirely practicable suggestion,” the Doctor smirked, pressing a hypospray to her neck. “How did you sustain these injuries, then?”  
  
“Fell off a ladder during the last attack,” Torres said shortly. “Now hurry up and fix me so I can go back to work.”  
  
“No can do, Lieutenant. You’re also suffering from exhaustion, dehydration and electrolyte imbalance. You need to stay here and rest for at least six hours. Please lie down and relax.”  
  
“Are you kidding? I don’t have time for that. The warp coils need a major realignment, there’s EPS relay damage on four decks and the Captain wants the ship ready to fight next time those carbuncle-headed Krenim maniacs decide to take a shot at us.” Torres made to jump off the bed and found her way blocked by an implacable holographic arm. “Get out of my way!”  
  
“Kes.” The little Ocampan hurried over at the Doctor’s summons. “Yes, Doctor?”  
  
“Please see that Miss Torres remains on this biobed for the next six hours. Sedate her, if necessary. I have other patients to attend.” The EMH began to move off, but Torres gripped his arm with what would have been entirely unnecessary force had he been organic. “Listen to me, you photonic _Qovpatlh_ ,” she hissed. “I cannot lie here doing nothing while this ship is at risk. Now let me off this damn bed or I’ll …” She swayed slightly and her eyes lost focus.  
  
The Doctor pressed her firmly, if gently, onto her back. “Lie down, Lieutenant,” he repeated. “You need six hours’ rest, and if you protest again I can always make it eight. Lieutenant Carey is capable of handling any engineering problems until you’re fit again.”  
  
Muttering dire curses, she submitted, and the Doctor moved away to treat Ensign Jurot’s head wound. Kes gave Torres a sympathetic pat on the hand and trotted after the Doctor.  
  
Torres had barely closed her eyes when the Sickbay doors opened and she heard an urgent call of “Doctor, we need help here!” Seska and McKenzie stumbled in supporting an unconscious Crewman Nera between them, her uniform bloodied at her waist. “What happened?” snapped the EMH, hurrying over.  
  
“She just collapsed,” McKenzie told him. “Keeled over at the science station. I saw her getting thrown halfway across the bridge in the last attack, but I didn’t realise she’d been so badly injured.”  
  
“Get her on that biobed. Kes, medical tricorder.” The Doctor frowned at the readout, then sliced open the injured Bajoran’s uniform to reveal a deep gash across her stomach. “She has a punctured spleen, a collapsed lung and internal bleeding. I need to operate now. Ensign Seska, if the bridge can spare you, I could use another assistant.”  
  
“Of course, Doctor.” Seska nodded to McKenzie and he left for the bridge. Torres pushed herself up on one elbow and watched the smooth ballet taking place before her as Kes and Seska anticipated the Doctor’s requests for medical equipment and reports on Nera’s vitals.  
  
Finally their movements slowed, and Torres called over to him. “Is she going to be all right?”  
  
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” the Doctor remonstrated.  
  
“She’s my friend,” Torres said quietly. “We were on the Liberty together. She’s saved my life half a dozen times.”  
  
The EMH relented. “I’ve repaired the damage, but she has lost a significant amount of blood. She needs a transfusion.” He moved to a console. “I’m calling up the medical files of all Bajorans on the ship to identify potential compatible donors.”  
  
“What about Seska? She’s right here.” Torres indicated the brunette Bajoran.  
  
“Ensign Seska’s blood will not be suitable.”  
  
“Why not?” B’Elanna demanded.  
  
“Doctor-patient confidentiality precludes me from explaining my statement, Lieutenant.” The EMH sounded absent-minded as he scanned the crew files.  
  
“It’s all right, Doctor.” Seska turned to address Torres. “I contracted Orkett’s disease as a child in the work camps. A sympathetic Cardassian woman donated her bone marrow to save me, but I was warned never to donate blood. The virus is dormant, but anyone receiving my blood could be infected.”  
  
“No matter,” the Doctor announced. “Ensign Tabor and Crewman Gerron both appear to be a match. Thank you, Ensign, you may return to the bridge.” As Seska turned to leave, he added, “However, I have no record of you attending your mandatory biannual health check since I was first activated.”  
  
“You must be mistaken,” Seska answered. “I’m sure I came in for a full med scan a couple of months ago.”  
  
“Not according to my records,” said the EMH, “and I very much doubt they are incorrect. Please come in at your earliest convenience, Ensign. Considering our current situation, you never know when you might be in need of my skills, and I can’t help you if I don’t have all the information.”  
  
“Yes, Doctor,” Seska replied, and slipped out of Sickbay.  
  
  
**Stardate 48798.1**  
  
**\- Day 51 -**  
  
“That smells about as good as it looks.”  
  
Commander Janeway looked up from her bowlful of atrocity as Lieutenant Paris slid into the seat opposite her. He didn’t ask if she minded him joining her anymore, she mused. “If possible, it tastes even worse.”  
  
Paris shrugged. “I suppose we can’t blame Neelix. A cook is only as good as his ingredients.”  
  
Janeway tried another spoonful. “No. But we could kill him. Considering this … meal … it would probably be ruled self-defence.”  
  
Paris, in the middle of his first bite of leola root casserole, snorted with laughter, breathed in a morsel and choked. Janeway leaned over the table and pounded him on the back until he stopped coughing, then sat down wearing a faint smirk. “Thanks, Paris. That has to be the first time I’ve found something funny in weeks.”  
  
His face burned. Fatigue and weeks of battle-frayed nerves made him snap out a reply. “Great. After all, I exist solely to amuse you, Commander.” He caught the surprise in her blue eyes as he gathered up his tray and stomped off to sit at an unoccupied table.  
  
“Dismissed, I guess,” Kathryn Janeway muttered to herself, and turned back to her offensive meal.  
  
=/\=  
  
When the red alert was called, the bridge crew showed little emotion. “Shields at sixty percent,” Kim reported dully. “The warship is firing again.”  
  
“Evasive manoeuvres, pattern alpha-three,” Paris mumbled.  
  
“Rerouting power to aft shields,” Tuvok reported, stoic as ever. “Minor impact to secondary hull on Deck 14. Repair crew is responding. Shields at fifty-three percent.”  
  
“Weapons status?” Chakotay asked.  
  
“Port phaser arrays are still offline. Starboard phasers and torpedos at full power.”  
  
“Hit them,” ordered Chakotay, but before Tuvok could respond, Kim warned, “Incoming,” and Voyager lurched drunkenly. Chakotay felt the floor beneath his feet shudder and knew that somewhere, the ship had taken a serious hit. “Report,” he shouted.  
  
“A Krenim torpedo is lodged in Jeffries tube 37-beta,” Tuvok said. “It has not detonated.”  
  
“Paris, do we have warp?”  
  
“Affirmative. I can give you warp seven.”  
  
“Do it.” Chakotay turned to Tuvok. “Get down there and see if you can disarm that torpedo.”  
  
“Aye, sir.” Tuvok nodded to Ayala, replacing him at tactical, and disappeared into the turbolift.  
  
=/\=  
  
The intense heat radiating from the torpedo might have weakened a human, but Vulcans were accustomed to heat. Tuvok crawled along the Jeffries tube, tricorder held forward and scanning until he was within five metres of the torpedo. He regarded the weapon and tapped his commbadge. “Tuvok to Chakotay.”  
  
~Go ahead.~  
  
“I estimate the torpedo will detonate in less than two minutes. I am unable to disarm it. Attempting to transport it would almost certainly result in an explosion. I recommend implementing the transverse bulkhead system.”  
  
~Understood. Get out of there.~  
  
Tuvok continued to scan. “I am attempting to determine the exact temporal variance of the warhead. It will help us perfect the temporal shielding.”  
  
~There’s no time. Get away from it.~ Chakotay’s order was urgent.  
  
Tuvok began moving backwards toward the Jeffries tube hatch as his tricorder whined a warning and the torpedo began to pulse with green light. “The temporal variance is one point four seven microseconds. Mr Kim, as soon as I am clear, lower the transverse bulkheads.”  
  
But before Tuvok could step through the hatch, the warhead exploded. The Vulcan threw an arm up to shield his face, but it was too late.  
  
=/\=  
  
“Rest easy, Lieutenant.” The voice was gentle and the touch on his mind soothing.  
  
Tuvok ignored it and sat up. “I am injured.”  
  
“You have third-degree burns to thirty percent of your body,” Kes said softly. “I’ve regenerated most of your skin and cleared the radioactive particles.”  
  
“I cannot see.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Tuvok.” Tendrils of telepathic unhappiness told him how sorry she was. “The explosion damaged your optic nerves. The Doctor could probably repair them, but he’s offline.”  
  
“For how long?” Tuvok began, and then heard a door swish open. The Captain’s voice came next. “Thank you, Kes, I’ll take it from here.”  
  
Tuvok felt a hand on his shoulder. “How are you feeling, Lieutenant?”  
  
“I am sufficiently repaired.” He cocked his head, listening. “I am not in Sickbay.”  
  
“No.” Chakotay’s voice was heavy. “Eighteen sections on Deck Five were destroyed when the warhead exploded. We managed to activate the transverse bulkheads in time to save the rest of the ship. The mess hall is our new medical bay.”  
  
“Kes said the EMH program is offline. Is it permanently destroyed?”  
  
“We don’t know yet. B’Elanna is trying to transfer it to one of the holodecks to see if it can be restored, but we don’t have enough power to activate the holodeck.”  
  
“Were there any fatalities in the breach?”  
  
“We lost two crewmen, Bartlett and Manus. Five others were wounded, including yourself.”  
  
Tuvok adjusted his mental shields to dampen the emotion this caused him. ”I am … sorry, Captain. If I had exited the Jeffries tube more quickly, the explosion may have been contained.”  
  
Chakotay was silent for a moment. “What’s done is done, and you haven’t exactly come out of this unscathed. But if you ever disobey my orders again, I will remove you permanently from your post. Do you understand?”  
  
“I understand.”  
  
“Good.” Chakotay shifted his feet. “There is one positive to come out of this. Ensign Kim believes he can perfect the shielding thanks to your identifying the temporal variance. With any luck, we’ll have a defence against any further attacks.”  
  
“I should assist him.”  
  
“You’re going nowhere. Kes says you need to rest while your skin recovers from regeneration. Lie down, Lieutenant. You’re off duty until 0800 tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll have Ayala construct a tactile interface for when you return to your post.”  
  
“Thank you, Captain,” Tuvok said soberly, and lay down.  
  
=/\=  
  
~Janeway to Torres. Any news on the EMH program, B’Elanna?~  
  
Torres wiped her brow. “I’ve managed to transfer it to the holodeck buffer, Commander. I think I can restore it with only about two percent degradation. The Doctor might lose a few memory engrams, but it’s better than nothing. Unfortunately I can’t be sure until I can activate his program, and until we have power to bring the holodecks back online …” She shook her head, forgetting Janeway couldn’t see her over the comm.  
  
~Understood. We’ll just have to cope without him in the meantime. I’m assigning Seska to Sickbay under Kes’s direction until further notice.~  
  
“There is one option,” Torres said slowly. “If I can install holoemitters in the mess hall, I could activate his program there. He’d have a limited area of movement and I’d have to reroute power from other systems, so I’d recommend he only be activated for emergencies. But it could work.”  
  
~Good idea. I’ll send Mulcahey to help you. Janeway out.~  
  
Within four hours Torres and Mulcahey had installed eight holoemitters spanning a ten metre square area of the mess hall. “Okay, let’s try it,” Torres said, and tapped her commbadge. “Torres to Chakotay.”  
  
~Go ahead, Lieutenant.~  
  
“I’m going to reroute EPS relay power from Decks 14 and 15 to the mess hall. Activating.” Torres held her breath as the EMH flickered into photonic life. “Hey, Doc,” she grinned. “Never thought I’d say this, but it’s good to see you.”  
  
The Doctor glanced around. “Where exactly am I?”  
  
“The mess hall,” she answered. “Half of Deck Five was destroyed when that torpedo exploded. We’re lucky your program wasn’t destroyed with it. Welcome to your new Sickbay.”  
  
“I see,” the EMH replied. “Well, I’ll make the best of it. What is our situation?” He was already reaching for his medical tricorder, scanning the nearest patient.  
  
“Dire,” she said flatly. “We don’t have enough power to run your program constantly, so I’m going to have to take you offline in a few minutes. I suggest you finish your rounds quickly. And don’t step outside the range of the holoemitters or your program will start to destabilise.”  
  
He looked outraged momentarily, then subsided. “Very well. Thank you, Lieutenant. Now excuse me …” His voice trailed off as he caught sight of his next patient. “Mr Tuvok, what happened to you?”  
  
Tuvok, who had been cross-legged and meditating on the biobed, opened his sightless eyes. “I was damaged when the warhead activated. However, I am not in need of your assistance at this time.”  
  
“The hell you aren’t,” retorted the Doctor. “I need to regenerate your optic nerves. Please lie down while I prepare for surgery.”  
  
Tuvok stopped him. “Lieutenant Torres has explained that your program should only be activated for emergency situations. In addition, we have limited power and must not waste time or energy on non-essential medical procedures.”  
  
“But you’re blind,” the EMH pointed out bluntly.  
  
“Indeed. I am, however, not in danger of dying, and will still be able to perform my duties. I decline further treatment at this time.”  
  
“The needs of the many, eh? Have it your way,” said the Doctor, and moved to the next biobed.  
  
  
**Stardate 48816.8**  
  
**\- Day 67 -**  
  
“Computer, activate tactile interface.”  
  
Kim watched as Tuvok’s console reconfigured to the tactile display. The Vulcan had quickly become proficient with the interface, but it still gave him a sick feeling in his stomach to see Tuvok’s clouded, unseeing eyes. He cleared his throat. “Tuvok, I was thinking last night, and I might have figured out the problem with the temporal shielding. We’ve been trying to match our shields to the temporal variance of the Krenim torpedoes, but I think we also need to match the deflector array to the inverse of the variance.”  
  
“Fascinating,” Tuvok said. “When will the deflectors be ready?”  
  
“Within the hour, if I have permission to go down to deflector control. But it’ll take a couple of hours to test the modifications.”  
  
“Permission granted, Ensign. Report your progress to me.”  
  
“Aye, sir.” Kim handed his station to Rollins and headed for the turbolift.  
  
=/\=  
  
“You’re not going to like what I have to say.”  
  
“Since when has that ever stopped you?” Chakotay looked up from his PADD with a weary smile.  
  
“The temporal shielding was a good idea, but it isn’t working.”  
  
“It will work. With every attack we gather more information about the chroniton weapons. Kim believes he’s close to a breakthrough.”  
  
“Harry Kim would be optimistic in the valley of the shadow of death. And frankly, Captain, that’s where we’re headed. The attacks are coming every few days and each one causes more damage we can’t hope to repair. Six decks are uninhabitable. The mess hall is doing double duty as the medical bay. We’re low on dilithium and pergium. Replicators are offline, food supplies are dwindling and we have no hope of replenishing them while these attacks continue. People are hungry, exhausted, injured.”  
  
He met her level gaze. “Say what you have to say, Commander.”  
  
“We should reverse course. Get out of Krenim space. Find another way home.”  
  
Chakotay placed the PADD on his desk. “Krenim space is vast. Circumventing it would add at least three years to our journey, not to mention the two months we’d spend retracing our steps.”  
  
“Better we make it home late than not at all.”  
  
“Take a seat, Kathryn.” Chakotay gestured and she dropped into the chair opposite him. “If we can make it through Krenim space, we should come out the other side in six months. And who’s to say, if we turned back, that the Krenim wouldn’t pursue us outside their borders, or that we won’t come across an even more combatant species? I’m not willing to trade three and a half years for that.”  
  
Janeway raised an eyebrow. “Tuvok would tell you that was an entirely illogical argument.”  
  
Surprising himself, Chakotay barked out a laugh. “You know, you even looked like him when you said that.”  
  
She smiled back. “He’s annoying, but he’s usually right, which is why you listen to him. And in this case, you should listen to me. You know I’m not the type to run from a fight, but sometimes discretion is the better part of valour.”  
  
“I can’t do it, Kate. We’ve come too far.”  
  
“Then you’re going to like my next proposal even less.”  
  
He sighed. “Lay it on me.”  
  
“We should consider leaving the ship,” she said. “Break into small groups. Escape pods, shuttles, each one with its own course. If all goes well, we’ll rendezvous on the other side of Krenim space.”  
  
“Abandon ship?” Chakotay went still. “Break up the family? No. We’re stronger together. The Krenim would pick us off one by one. And even if we made it, then what? We’d have no Voyager, no way home. No. Absolutely not.”  
  
She leaned back in her chair with an answering sigh. “To be honest, I wasn’t too fond of the idea myself. But I’d be a negligent XO, and a bad friend, if I didn’t bring you options.”  
  
“Nobody could ever accuse you of being a negligent first officer. And as for a bad friend …” He smiled at her; it was a wan imitation of his usual smile, and she couldn’t see his dimples through his beard. It struck her that she missed his dimples. And his smile. Janeway dropped her gaze. “So now what?”  
  
She watched as the smile disappeared and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “How long is it since you slept?” she asked, and Chakotay shrugged. “Who can say?”  
  
“You’re exhausted,” she said flatly. “Take a few hours. I can keep the boat afloat.”  
  
“We’re all exhausted,” he retorted.  
  
“The ship needs a captain who isn’t catatonic from fatigue. You can’t go on like this.”  
  
~Captain to the Bridge,~ Paris said urgently over the comm, and Chakotay and Janeway bolted out of the ready room. “Report, Lieutenant?”  
  
“Two Krenim vessels are approaching, sir.”  
  
“Their weapons are powered,” Tuvok advised from Tactical.  
  
Chakotay activated the ship-wide comm. “Red alert. All hands to battle stations.”  
  
Tuvok pressed his commbadge. “Tuvok to Ensign Kim. Have you completed the deflector modifications?”  
  
~Complete,~ Kim called. ~Bringing the shields online now. I just need a minute.~  
  
“Krenim vessels are in range,” Tuvok reported. “They are firing.”  
  
“Evasive manoeuvres,” Chakotay snapped. “Make it quick, Harry.”  
  
Paris took the ship into a lurching dive and the Krenim weapons grazed the shields. “No damage,” said Tuvok. “They are firing again.”  
  
“Now, Mr Kim!” Chakotay shouted.  
  
~Shields are online!~ Harry Kim yelled, and the Krenim warhead exploded.  
  
Voyager rocked nauseatingly. But there came no exploding consoles, no litany of damage and injury. “The temporal shields are holding,” Tuvok stated.  
  
Chakotay stood. “Hail them.”  
  
“Channel open.”  
  
“Krenim vessels,” Chakotay announced, “this is the Captain of Voyager. You may have noticed we have a defence against your weapons now. I suggest you stand down.”  
  
“No response,” said Tuvok.  
  
“Their mistake,” muttered Chakotay. “Bring the ship about. We’re going through their space whether they like it or not.”  
  
He sat, and realised that Janeway was smiling at him. “Looks like you were right,” she said. “We live to fight another day.”  
  
=/\=  
  
“We are within range of the Garenor homeworld,” Obrist reported.  
  
Annorax settled more comfortably into his seat. “Set temporal coordinates. Full power to the weapon. Prepare for total erasure of the species.”  
  
“Targeting the focal point. Ready.”  
  
“Fire.”  
  
The weapon pulsed, and bright light shot toward the green planet, enveloping it. Obrist watched as the wave spread out into space. As the light dissipated, the planet came into view again, now a mottled, roiling brown. He dropped his gaze.  
  
“Counterindications?” asked his captain.  
  
Obrist cleared his throat. “None so far. Organisms and structures have been eradicated.”  
  
“Track the temporal wavefront as it passes through the system. I want to monitor every change in the timeline as it occurs.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” said Obrist quietly.  
  
=/\=  
  
“The Krenim ships are in pursuit,” Tuvok stated, “but they have not powered their weapons.”  
  
“Ha,” snorted Paris. “They don’t know what to do with us now.”  
  
Harry Kim shot through the turbolift doors and took his station, grinning ear to ear. “We did it,” he crowed.  
  
“You did it, Ensign.” Chakotay turned to smile at him. “Well done.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.” Kim looked down as his console beeped, and lost his smile. “Captain, there’s some kind of spatial distortion heading toward us. Sensor readings are erratic. I can’t identify the phenomenon.”  
  
“Source?”  
  
“Unknown.” Kim tapped a few keys. “It originated approximately twenty light years from our position. It looks like a space-time shockwave.”  
  
“Get us out of here, Paris,” Chakotay warned.  
  
“Full impulse… We’ll never outrun it,” Paris stated. “Warp field is collapsing.”  
  
“Maybe the new shields will help,” offered Janeway.  
  
Chakotay nodded and thumbed on the ship-wide comm. “All hands, brace for impact.”  
  
Voyager’s viewscreen glowed brilliant white. The ship swayed, and the wave passed.  
  
“You were correct, Commander,” said Tuvok. “The wavefront has passed. No damage to the ship.”  
  
They watched as the wave enveloped the two Krenim warships. And then the warships disappeared. In their place, the viewscreen showed a single small vessel.  
  
Chakotay stared. “Report?”  
  
“It’s definitely a Krenim ship,” Kim said, baffled. “Identical hull markings, same biospectral frequency.”  
  
“What happened to the warships?” Janeway demanded.  
  
Paris shook his head. “I’m not picking them up on long-range sensors.”  
  
“Scan the region,” Chakotay ordered, and after a moment Kim offered, “It looks like this entire part of space has changed somehow. The last time I checked, this region was filled with Krenim colonies and vessels. Now there are no colonies and just a handful of Krenim ships.”  
  
Janeway strode over to his station, peering over his shoulder. “Same space, different configuration. It appears the Krenim Imperium has been reduced to a few planets and a number of small scout vessels. No warships, no empire. Could the temporal shockwave have caused this?”  
  
“It is possible,” Tuvok allowed.  
  
“So somehow, someone or something has changed history,” she said softly. “Why weren’t we affected?”  
  
“Our temporal shielding may have protected us from changes in the timeline.”  
  
Janeway nodded. “Harry, see if you can track the source of the shockwave.”  
  
=/\=  
  
A light began to flash on the console, then an alarm beeped. “Something went wrong,” Obrist said sharply, fingers moving on the console. He turned to check the dynamic display on the wall behind him. The graceful lines that represented the course of the temporal wave curved elegantly, until they reached a set of coordinates and tangled into a snarl. He checked and double-checked the readouts on his console. “Sir!”  
  
Annorax turned at the urgency in his voice. “Report?”  
  
“The entire Krenim Imperium,” Obrist’s voice wobbled. “It’s reverted to a pre-warp state.”  
  
“Not possible.” Annorax pushed up from his chair and moved quickly to Obrist’s terminal.  
  
“See for yourself.” Obrist stepped back.  
  
“Our calculations were perfect.” Barely contained fury turned Annorax’s voice to gravel. “How could this happen?”  
  
“I may have an explanation,” Obrist interrupted. “There’s an anomalous temporal reading twenty light years from here. It’s coming from a vessel.”  
  
“What vessel?”  
  
“Component 049-beta. A ship called Voyager.”  
  
“That ship was classified as an inert component. It shouldn’t be generating a temporal field.”  
  
“But it is,” said Obrist evenly. “And it was enough to throw off our calculations.”  
  
Annorax stared at the display terminal. A sleek white ship rotated slowly on the screen; a ship the likes of which he had never seen before. His enemy.  
  
“Take me to them,” he said, and his voice was flat and cold as a knife.  
  
=/\=  
  
“The shockwave emanated from a planet twenty light years away,” Ensign Kim reported. “The Garenor homeworld.”  
  
“The Garenor?” Chakotay joined them on the upper level. “We passed their planet three weeks ago. We traded our zeolitic ore for dilithium and food supplies.”  
  
“Best meal I’ve had in months,” interjected Paris from the conn.  
  
“The planet is uninhabited,” Kim said blankly. “There are no signs of Garenor ships, colonies or lifesigns in this entire region of space.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“From these readings, it looks like the moment the shockwave appeared, the Garenor species vanished.”  
  
“Erased from history.” Janeway looked ill.  
  
“Commander?” Chakotay quirked an eyebrow at her.  
  
“Think about it,” she urged. “This sounds like a causality paradox. A temporal shockwave appears, an entire species is erased, and in that instant, all of history is changed.”  
  
“Perhaps the Krenim are responsible,” Tuvok suggested. “They do possess temporal technology.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Janeway agreed. “But the Krenim no longer appear to rule this area of space. Why change history to undermine themselves? We’re still missing a big piece of the puzzle. Run another scan of -”  
  
A vast rumble interrupted her and the entire ship shook. “Report,” Chakotay shouted as he and Janeway sprinted back to the main bridge level.  
  
“A massive vessel just dropped out of warp off our port bow,” Paris answered. Janeway stepped up behind him, her hand on his shoulder. “It’s a Krenim ship,” he continued, “but unlike any we’ve seen before.”  
  
“That entire vessel is in a state of temporal flux,” said Kim in wonder. “It’s like they exist outside of space-time.”  
  
“They’re scanning us,” Paris warned. And then he and Commander Janeway disappeared.  
  
Chakotay shot from his chair. “Get a lock on them!”  
  
“I can’t isolate their signals,” Kim said frantically.  
  
Tuvok stated, “We are being hailed.”  
  
“On screen.” Chakotay watched as the face of an unfamiliar Krenim commander appeared on the viewscreen. “Who are you and where are my crewmen?” he demanded without preamble.  
  
“I am Annorax, of the Krenim Imperium,” the alien replied. “We have transferred your crewmen to my vessel for further analysis. It appears you do not come from this region. State your identity.”  
  
“I’m Captain Chakotay of the Federation starship Voyager. We come from a planet sixty thousand light years from here. We’re on our way home.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
Chakotay calmed himself with visible effort. “We’ve been observing some unusual events in this region. It appears your Imperium never existed. Care to shed some light?”  
  
“That is not your concern,” Annorax replied. “However, I’m afraid you have diverted me from my mission.”  
  
“The changes in the timeline,” Chakotay said softly. “You’re responsible.”  
  
“You’re a long way from home, Captain,” Annorax said. “In a way, so am I. Unfortunately, only one of us can go home again. Your sacrifice will be remembered.”  
  
The screen blinked off.  
  
“Captain, I’m reading a massive build-up of energy,” Kim informed him. “The vessel appears to be arming some kind of weapon.”  
  
“Shields.”  
  
The bridge was washed in a vivid white light. “Captain,” Tuvok said. “The energy beam is pushing Voyager out of the space-time continuum.”  
  
“Temporal shields are weakening,” said Kim.  
  
“He wants to erase us from history.” Chakotay shouldered Culhane out of the pilot’s seat and his fingers played over the helm. “That ship is too bulky to exceed warp six. We can outrun them.”  
  
“Captain.” For a moment it sounded as though Tuvok was alarmed. “I must caution you that our structural integrity is still impaired. If we go to warp now, the damage to Voyager will be extreme.”  
  
“No choice,” Chakotay said shortly. “Activate the transverse bulkheads. Clear the outer sections and alert the crew to prepare for wide-scale breaches.”  
  
“Captain, what about Janeway and Paris?” Kim looked anxious.  
  
“We’ll have to come back for them. Engaging warp seven.”  
  
Shedding sections of hull as she went, Voyager tore herself from the grip of the temporal energy beam and left the hulking Krenim vessel behind.

 


	2. Incursion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy misuse of "Year of Hell".

**Stardate 48844.6**  
  
**– Day 95 -**  
  
“Come in.”  
  
Tuvok entered the Captain’s ready room, feeling his way around the debris on the floor until he found the back of a chair. Gripping it, he held out a PADD. “The situation report, sir.”  
  
“Have a seat, Lieutenant.” Chakotay scanned the PADD. “This looks worse than yesterday.”  
  
“A malfunction in the EPS conduits on Deck Three caused a number of relays to burn out, which initiated a power overload in the replicator system on that deck. The fire suppression system was offline. Most of the crew quarters on Deck Three have been rendered uninhabitable. Repair crews have been assigned, but it is likely the deck will have to be temporarily shut down and crew members reassigned to shared quarters.”  
  
“Well, that’ll help crew morale,” Chakotay muttered sarcastically. “Who am I sharing with, then?”  
  
Tuvok raised an eyebrow. “As the Captain, it would be inappropriate for you to share quarters with a junior crewman. Ensign Ryson’s quarters will become yours, and he has been reassigned to share with Crewman Harren.”  
  
“Lucky Ryson,” Chakotay smiled, and put down the PADD with its catalogue of catastrophe. “How are you, Tuvok?”  
  
“I am well, thank you, Captain.”  
  
Chakotay studied him. “I know you well enough to know when there’s something on your mind. Spit it out.”  
  
Tuvok inclined his head. “Very well. I am uncertain as to our future, immediate and otherwise.”  
  
“Explain.”  
  
“Commander Janeway and Lieutenant Paris were taken by the Krenim weapon vessel almost a month ago. You repeatedly make mention of a rescue mission, yet it is quite clear that Voyager is in no state to mount a rescue, and in fact is barely spaceworthy. Over the past four weeks we have been attacked by three separate species intent on plundering this vessel. We have made no allies, found no trade opportunities. In short, Captain, I am doubtful that we can continue in this manner for more than a week at best.”  
  
“Well, don’t hold back.” Chakotay sighed. “I suppose you have a proposal.”  
  
“Indeed. I would suggest that we allow the crew to disembark and seek alternate routes through this region, or sanctuary, if that is their wish. Such a plan would offer this crew its greatest chance for survival.”  
  
“You know, Kathryn recommended the same thing, the day she and Paris were taken,” Chakotay said quietly, leaning back in his chair. “I guess it’s good to know that my first officers have consistent advice for me.” He rubbed his forehead. “I won’t abandon Voyager. The senior staff should stay. Once we’ve completed repairs, we’ll attempt to rescue Kathryn and Tom.”  
  
“There is a Class 9 nebula two light years distant. It could provide a refuge while we effect repairs. However, Captain, I would caution you that with a skeleton staff and no access to supplies or resources, repairing the ship will not be an easy task.”  
  
“Understood.” Chakotay stood. “Advise all hands to gather in Cargo Bay Two in thirty minutes.”  
  
He walked the halls of the ship – what was left of it – in the half hour reprieve before the hardest order he’d ever had to give. Debris was everywhere; flickering consoles, darkened passageways. And everywhere were reminders: of scars earned in battle, of systems cobbled together by ingenuity and sweat, of the people who made this ship a home.  
  
Half an hour passed and he found himself standing before the doors to the cargo bay, afraid to enter. But he was the captain, and he had no choice.  
  
The crew stood at attention, and Tuvok announced, “Captain on the deck.”  
  
“At ease.” At his words, they relaxed. He knew it wouldn’t last long.  
  
“I promised myself I would never give this order,” Chakotay began. “But it’s time to face reality. We’ve lost nine decks. Half the ship has been destroyed. Life support is nearly gone. Voyager can no longer sustain her crew. I never wanted to break up this family, but asking you to stay would be asking you to die.”  
  
He paused to gather his thoughts. “You will proceed to the escape pods and shuttles - Lieutenant Tuvok has your assignments. Set course for the Alpha quadrant and activate your subspace transponders to enable us to track you. The senior staff will remain on board. We will try, somehow, to rescue Commander Janeway and Lieutenant Paris. And when we find each other again – and we will,” he said emphatically, “I expect to find you all in good shape and with some interesting tales to tell.”  
  
He steeled himself to cast his gaze one last time around the room, meeting the trusting eyes of his crew. There was Celes, wide-eyed and trembling, a black smudge of grease on her cheekbone. There was Gerron, scowling to hide his fear. There was Batehart, standing straight and tall, fists clenched at his sides. So young, the three of them, he thought. He tried not to wonder how they’d survive, out there in space in their lonely escape pods. He couldn’t think that way. They would survive, and they would thrive, and one day they’d all be back together again.  
  
“Dismissed,” he said quietly, and watched them file out of the cargo bay.  
  
=/\=  
  
After days or weeks of darkness, Kathryn Janeway squinted watery-eyed as the oblong of dazzling light fell across the suddenly opened doorway. Ungentle hands reached down and plucked her from her corner. “Where are you taking me?” she rasped in a voice hoarse from disuse, but no answer was forthcoming.  
  
She was stripped – under protest; a Krenim underling would be nursing a black eye and a sour temper for a while, she thought with satisfaction – and pushed under a sonic shower. Fresh clothing had been laid out for her, and she sullenly pulled it on. She used the hairbrush provided for her and looked for pins to pull her hair out of her face, but found none; she let it fall unbound. She stood and faced the silent guard by the door. “Well, I guess I’m ready for my date now,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “Dinner or dancing?”  
  
The guard led her through corridors and doorways until they reached a room with a table, laden with dishes and bowls of exotic food. “Dinner, then,” Janeway muttered, but she couldn’t help salivating a little. She’d been fed occasionally, in that dark room, but she wouldn’t have called it fine dining. The guard nudged her into the dining room and she saw that a man was seated at the end of the table. He appeared middle-aged, at least if he’d been human, but strong and vital. His face was square, his hair greying, his eyes a cold, pale blue. “Welcome,” he addressed her. “My name is Annorax. I trust you feel rested?”  
  
“Where’s my crewmate?” she demanded.  
  
“He should have been here by now. No doubt he’s making himself difficult. I’ve never met such an intransigent young man.”  
  
“What do you expect?” she demanded. “You’ve had us in isolation for weeks. I’ve been starved, scanned, questioned and manhandled. I’m guessing you’ve done the same to him.”  
  
“It was a necessary process. You are an unknown species; I had to know what you were capable of, and how your presence and abilities might affect my mission. No matter. You may consider yourselves my guests.”  
  
“How kind,” Paris said sardonically, striding into the room and taking the seat beside Janeway. “You okay?” he asked her, his eyes soft. She nodded, and he turned back to Annorax. “What do you want from us?”  
  
“Information,” Annorax replied. “But first, eat.” He indicated the expanse of food before them. “You won’t find these delicacies anywhere else in the galaxy.”  
  
Still suspicious, Janeway picked up her fork and tentatively tried something that was blue and looked like caviar. It tasted like peaches. “Interesting,” she muttered. Paris followed suit, and before long Janeway realised they’d both eaten a plateful.  
  
Annorax uncapped a crystal bottle and poured them each a burgundy-coloured glassful. “Malkothian spirits. The only bottle known to exist. Commander Janeway, when I first encountered your vessel, it was badly damaged. What would you say if I told you that in a matter of moments, I could restore your ship to its former condition? That you might even find yourselves closer to the Alpha quadrant?”  
  
“By using your temporal weapon to alter history?” she asked.  
  
Annorax smiled. “Yes. I can control the destiny of a single molecule, or an entire civilisation. How’s your wine?”  
  
She shrugged. “I’m no expert.”  
  
Annorax sighed. “This bottle is the only remaining component of the once powerful Malkoth race. Everything else about them – cities, culture, the very species – never existed, because of me.” He indicated the table. “Every dish you see here comes from a civilisation that I have erased from time. I have collected artefacts from hundreds of worlds. This vessel is more than a weapon. It’s a museum of lost histories.”  
  
Slowly, Janeway put down her glass. The meal she had enjoyed suddenly lurched in her stomach, and glancing at Paris, she saw he looked pale too. This megalomaniac had made them unwitting accessories to murder. She swallowed down the rising nausea. “What exactly do you want from us?”  
  
“I want us to help each other. You’re trying to reach your home; in a way, I am too. But in order to make the calculations required to restore Voyager, I need to know about some of your experiences in this quadrant. What species you interacted with, how other components were affected by your presence.”  
  
“You can’t find them,” Paris blurted. “Captain Chakotay is eluding you. You want us to give them up so you can destroy them.”  
  
“I’m offering you a way out of your situation,” Annorax replied, and his eyes were cold as a glacier. “Accept my offer, or when I find your ship, I will destroy it.”  
  
“I’m not listening to any more of this.” Paris shoved his chair back and stood. “I won’t be party to wiping out entire civilisations. Commander?” He turned to her, expecting her to stand with him.  
  
She wanted to be sick, wanted to leap across the table and put her hands around Annorax’s scaly neck. But Janeway forced herself to remain still. “Tom, wait a minute.” She faced Annorax. “You said you could control the destiny of a single molecule. If you made a precise enough calculation, could you restore Voyager without harming anyone?”  
  
Annorax inclined his head. “It is possible. But it’s extremely difficult. Which is why I need your help.”  
  
“Commander, you can’t trust him,” Paris pleaded. “He’s insane.”  
  
Annorax pressed a button on the edge of the table and another dark-suited Krenim male appeared. “Obrist, I believe Mr Paris is ready to retire to his new quarters. Please see that he is made comfortable. Mr Paris, perhaps a good night’s sleep will help open your mind.”  
  
Obrist nodded and led Paris from the room, and Annorax turned back to Janeway. “I was impressed with your question. You may be unable to appreciate a rare vintage, but perhaps you can appreciate the subtleties of time.”  
  
She made herself smile. “I’m certainly willing to try.”  
  
=/\=  
  
The Krenim had put Janeway and Paris in quite luxurious quarters, adjoined by a common anteroom filled with fat couches and abundant green fronded plants. Janeway was only halfway through her ostensibly lazy tour of her room, running her fingers over surfaces and picking up objects in a clandestine search for covert surveillance devices and potential useful tools or technology, when Paris burst through the antechamber doors. He stopped in front of her. “Hey,” he said, and reached impulsively for her hand. “It’s good to see you.”  
  
She couldn’t deny it was good to see him, too. Janeway smiled, returned light pressure on his fingers and let go. “Did they mistreat you?”  
  
“I gave as good as I got,” he shrugged. “I’m guessing you did, too, judging by the puffy eye on one of those meathead guards.”  
  
She moved away, continuing her prowl around the room, picking things up and putting them down. “What are you doing?” he asked.  
  
“Making sure we’re alone.”  
  
He caught on, and took the opposite side of the room. Eventually they met at the couches. Janeway sat and waved a hand, inviting him to sit beside her. “So what now?” he asked quietly.  
  
“In a captive situation, a Starfleet officer’s first obligation is to attempt escape.” Her mouth turned up at the corner as she quoted from the rulebook. “So we escape.”  
  
“I suppose you have a plan.”  
  
“Not exactly. But I’m open to opportunities.”  
  
They were silent for a while, and then Tom said, “Commander… do you think they’re still out there?”  
  
Janeway stood briskly, smoothing her tunic. “I have no doubt of it, and neither should you.”  
  
  
**Stardate 48865.9**  
  
**\- Day 116 -**  
  
“God _damn_ it.”  
  
Paris glanced up just in time to watch the little PADD-like tablet sail across the anteroom and bounce off the wall. Janeway stomped over and kicked the tablet for good measure.  
  
“So I guess the calculations aren’t coming along so well,” he said drily.  
  
For three weeks he’d barely seen her without her gaze bent to that tablet in her hand or her head bowed in front of a console, tapping on the keypad, entering calculation after variable after projection. She spent hours every day sequestered with Annorax, and when Tom joined them for meals, they spoke a language he could not understand. He’d tried to ask her what she was doing, why she was buying into Annorax’s mania, but her answers had not satisfied him. He was lonely and stiflingly bored and fearful for the crew of Voyager, and his temper had been further frayed by the knowledge that she was shutting him out.  
  
“Every time I think I’ve nailed it, I run a simulation and all I’ve done is wiped out another species, or caused the destruction of Voyager. It’s like every time I pull on a thread it unravels all of history. I know there’s a way I can make it work. If I could just _see_ …”  
  
He was halfway across the room before he realised he was moving, crowding her, getting in her face. “I’ll tell you what you need to see,” he said, and his voice trembled with anger and desperation. “No matter how many calculations you make, you’ll never find the perfect equation. How many years, how many _centuries_ has this crew been at it? What makes you think you’re so smart, so special, so _lucky_ that you’ll be the one to fix everything? It’s so _arrogant_!”  
  
In the silence that followed the echoes of his diatribe he stood with every muscle rigid, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Shock reflected in her blue-grey eyes. Tom realised how close he was to her, inches from her upturned face. Sanity rushed in and it took conscious effort to step back. There was no doubt in his mind that had he spoken to her like this on Voyager, he’d have been spending the next eternity in the brig. “Commander, I can’t – I’m so -”  
  
“Stand down, Lieutenant,” Kathryn said softly, but her eyes were ice.  
  
He shut up, and she regarded him for a moment longer, and then she turned to her quarters and let the door slide closed behind her. And once again, Tom Paris was left shut out and alone.  
  
=/\=  
  
The senior officers had fallen into a regular pattern of taking their meals together in the briefing room off the bridge; after an attack by a species identifying themselves as the Arkaan shortly before Chakotay had given the order to launch the escape pods, Deck Two had been badly damaged and the mess hall was all but impassable. It made Neelix’s job harder and meant that the EMH had been rendered semi-permanently offline, activated only when Kes was unable to provide the required medical care for the few remaining crew. But Chakotay had determined during their first days in the nebula that this communal mealtime served as both a necessary briefing session and a mood-lifter. Without it, some of them would rarely see another soul.  
  
Chakotay unwrapped his ration pack and, as was his habit, broke it into individual small squares, which he ate slowly, trying to trick his stomach into believing it was a delicious, fresh, abundant meal. Four days ago an EPS manifold had blown, triggering a power failure on two decks and knocking out one of the refrigeration units; they had lost two-thirds of their remaining cold food stores, and so two meals a day were now replaced by ration packs. As a result, the mood at the dining table was lacklustre.  
  
He noticed that Torres and Kim sat close together, almost but not quite touching, and that frequently, one of them would dart a glance at the other and look quickly away. They had been working closely together of late; engineering and ship’s operations often criss-crossed, but with so few people on the ship the only staff B’Elanna could delegate to were Harry and occasionally Neelix, who was assigned to Engineering when he wasn’t back-filling for other missing crewmen.  
  
He waited until B’Elanna had finished chewing her mouthful with a grimace of distaste, then asked “Report, Lieutenant? How are we looking?”  
  
She shook her head. “I’m still having trouble with the starboard nacelle.”  
  
“How long?”  
  
“Three weeks. Minimum,” she said firmly, knowing the Captain had been about to give her two.  
  
He sighed. “Ensign Kim, the power grid?”  
  
“We’re operating at thirty-two percent. I think I can bring it up to fifty in a few more days. Structural integrity is still fluctuating, but there’s not much I can do about that until I can stabilise the power grid.”  
  
“Weapons, Mr Tuvok?”  
  
“Mr Ayala and I have repaired the phaser array. It is operating at eighty percent efficiency. Three of the torpedo launchers are online. The fourth is irreparable in our current situation. Standard shields are at sixty-eight percent. Temporal shielding is online.”  
  
“Good,” Chakotay nodded. “Ensign Seska, helm report?”  
  
“Navigational systems are functioning at peak efficiency,” she replied. “Impulse engines are online but there’s a power fluctuation in the starboard engine. I’ll be working on it tomorrow.”  
  
“Kes?”  
  
“We’re running low on inaprovaline, but medical supplies are looking good otherwise. I haven’t treated any major injuries in over a week. Captain, I’d like to volunteer to assist elsewhere, if you think there’s a suitable post for me.”  
  
He nodded. “Help Ensign Seska with the impulse engines. Once they’re repaired, see Lieutenant Tuvok for your next assignment. Ayala, I’d like you to work with B’Elanna on the nacelle repairs, since you have the defensive systems under control.”  
  
“Aye, sir.”  
  
Chakotay leaned back in his chair and regarded his senior staff. “I know you’ve all been working long hours,” he said slowly. “And I’m very pleased with your progress. This ship may be battered, but there’s life in her yet, and she’s not meant to lurk in a cloud for the rest of her days. Not while our crew is out there. As soon as we have warp capability, we are leaving this nebula.” He turned to Tuvok. “We need a strategy – a rescue mission. Our first priority is to locate and rescue Janeway and Paris. Once they’re back on board, we’ll search for the rest of the crew and bring them home. I want options and recommendations on my desk by tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
There was a chorus of “yes, sir”s, and when they pushed away from the table to return to their duty stations, he thought he detected a spring in a few steps.  
  
=/\=  
  
“I understand your latest simulation failed.”  
  
“Yes.” Janeway blew out a huff of frustration. “There was a comet that passed through Sector 4879 six months ago. Voyager made a course correction to avoid it; if we hadn’t done so, we would have avoided Krenim space altogether. I ran a simulation erasing the comet, but all I achieved was wiping out all life within a four parsec radius. Fragments from that comet had impacted a planet several millions of years ago and created hydrocarbons which gave rise to several species of plant life, and eventually, sentient life forms.” She slumped in her chair. “How do you do it? How do you take into account all the variables, all the odds? How could this possibly ever succeed?”  
  
Annorax smiled a little and steepled his fingers before his chin. “We have had successes, but you’re right; the odds are immense.” He stood and went to the viewport, hands clasped behind his back, staring outward. “It seemed so easy at first. The calculations were perfect; in a blink of an eye, I had wiped out our greatest enemy, the Rilnar. In an instant, my people became powerful again.”  
  
“A staggering achievement,” Janeway replied, smothering a wave of nausea at his casual disregard for an entire species. “And yet you made another incursion, and another.”  
  
Annorax bowed his head. “A disease broke out among our colonies, and spread throughout our territory. Within a year, fifty million people were dead. I had failed to realise that the Rilnar had introduced a crucial antibody into the Krenim genome. My weapon had eliminated that antibody as well.”  
  
“You lost everything,” she murmured.  
  
“My people were all but wiped out. I have been attempting ever since to reverse what I had done.”  
  
“I’ve been studying your logs,” Janeway said, “the records of your previous incursions. Three months ago, you achieved the seemingly impossible – a ninety-eight percent restoration; your greatest success by far. And yet, a month ago, you made another attempt. Why?”  
  
“My accomplishment was insufficient.”  
  
“You didn’t achieve your target event,” she said evenly. “The colony on Kyana Prime.”  
  
Annorax turned. “How could you know that?”  
  
“It seems that no matter how close you get to restoring the original timeline, one component is always missing. Kyana Prime. Who was on that colony? Who did you lose?”  
  
“My wife, and with her my future.” Annorax’s gaze fell on the glass pyramid on his desk with its single lock of auburn hair. “This is all I have left of her now.”  
  
Janeway crossed her legs. “Forgive me, but your wife has been dead for over two hundred years now. And yet you keep trying. Yearning after a past that will never be.”  
  
Annorax turned pale eyes on her, eyes that held no warmth at all. “I have all eternity to change that past.”  
  
“And how much damage will you do in that eternity?” she challenged. “It seems that, in the majority of attempts, your race has ceased to exist. What makes you think you can do any better? Perhaps your race was never meant to survive?”  
  
For a moment, she thought he might kill her; his throat convulsed with the effort of containing his anger. Finally he spoke. “I had hopes for you. I thought perhaps you understood the vagaries of time – its whims, its moods. But you are just another fatalist.” He smiled with no humour. “Return to your quarters, Commander Janeway, and endeavour to live – forever - with the knowledge that you have just condemned your crewmates to death.”  
  
She walked to the door on legs that trembled. Just before she exited, he called her name, and she turned. He was looking at her, and she couldn’t believe that for a while she had actually thought that perhaps he wasn’t insane. “We are not so very different now, you and I,” he said, and she escaped before her legs could no longer hold her.  
  
=/\=  
  
“Pass me that hyperspanner.”  
  
Kes held out the instrument and watched closely as Seska used it to bypass the power relay, then sat back on her heels and sighed with frustration. “I just can’t isolate the power fluctuation. Every time I reroute power through a different relay, something else overloads.”  
  
“Why don’t we take a break, Ensign? We’ve been working for four hours. I know I could use a cup of tea.”  
  
“You go ahead.” Seska was already shoulder-deep in the panel again. “I want to try a few more things.”  
  
“I’ll bring something back for you.” Kes made her way to the kitchen behind the mess hall; it was the only accessible part of that section of Deck Two and Ensign Kim had rigged a kind of food transport plate in a Jeffries tube hatch that Neelix used to send meals up to the briefing room on Deck One. Kim called it a dumbwaiter, which Kes found incomprehensible but amusing.  
  
She made a flask of hot tea and carried it back through the Jeffries tubes to Deck Seven. She could see Seska was still hard at work on the impulse power arrays, so she approached quietly and stood behind the Bajoran, waiting for an appropriate moment to speak so she wouldn’t startle her. She watched as Seska worked. Kes had learned a lot about the impulse drive already from observing Seska, but she hadn’t had the opportunity to actually do very much. Seska preferred to use her as an aide much the same way as the Doctor used her as a medical assistant: pass this, read out that. At least the Doctor was happy for her to perform less critical medical procedures. And over the past few months while he’d been mostly offline, Kes had been the acting Chief Medical Officer, and she hadn’t yet encountered a condition she couldn’t fix. Well, except for Tuvok’s blindness, but he wouldn’t have let her fix it anyway.  
  
She cocked her head, trying to decipher what Seska was doing now. “Why are you tying the comm system into the power grid?” she asked.  
  
Seska jumped. “Prophets, Kes, you scared the life out of me!”  
  
“Sorry, Ensign. I was trying to see what you were doing without disturbing you. I don’t understand what the communications system has to do with stabilising the power flow to the impulse engines?”  
  
“That’s not what I was doing,” Seska said. “Is that peppermint tea?”  
  
Kes handed her the flask. “I’m sure I saw you –”  
  
“You were mistaken,” Seska said flatly, sipping from the flask. “Now, could you please monitor those readouts? I’m going to try bypassing a different EPS conduit.” She thrust the flask at Kes and turned back to the panel.  
  
  
**Stardate 48890.2**  
  
**\- Day 141 -**  
  
Crewman Bendera eased the shuttle into high orbit above the planet and set the sensors to a continuous scanning pattern. He didn’t think the Arkaan scout ship had followed them – he’d masked their warp trail with thoron emissions – but they’d had too many narrow escapes since leaving Voyager and he was afraid their luck was due to run out. “Okay, we’re parked,” he announced, turning from the viewscreen.  
  
Three Starfleet ensigns stared back at him: Tal Celes, Lyndsey Ballard and Marya Swinn. Bendera sighed a little. Fate, and Lieutenant Tuvok, had played an unkind trick on him. All three outranked him, but all three had been fresh out of the Academy when Voyager landed in the Delta quadrant. And just when they were hitting their stride they’d been ripped away from the ship. Ballard had spunk and Swinn was a capable engineer, but they were scared and uncertain. He’d had no choice but to take charge.  
  
“Come on, let’s get down there and see what we can forage. Ballard, secure all systems. Swinn, find weapons and something we can use to carry whatever food we find. Celes, why don’t you go grab the survival packs. We’ll beam down in ten minutes.”  
  
He made a few refinements to the transport coordinates, ensuring they’d be set down in a hilly area with a fair chance of abundant vegetation, then said “Let’s go.” The four stepped onto the transporter pad.  
  
They rematerialised on a gentle green slope covered in purple flowers. Fat insects buzzed lazily, avians darted overhead and the sun was warm and bright. Bendera felt his muscles relax for the first time in weeks. “Nice place,” he remarked. “Ballard, Swinn, go check out that grove of trees over there and see if there’s any edible fruit. Celes, you’re with me.” He indicated a cave system in the hillside to their left. “Could be some small animals we can trap, and we’ll check for natural minerals too.”  
  
The teams struck out separately. “You’re really good at this, Kurt,” Celes remarked, and he shrugged. “I grew up on Telfas Prime. It’s a rough place; you learn to fend for yourself pretty quickly, or you die.” He glanced at her. “But I don’t have to tell you about growing up rough. You’re Bajoran.”  
  
She ducked her head. “I’m a lucky Bajoran. My family stowed away on a Terellian trade ship when I was three. We settled on Betazed a few months later. I don’t even really remember Bajor, or the Cardassian occupation.”  
  
“Did you become Federation citizens?”  
  
She nodded. “My father wanted to join Starfleet, but he didn’t pass the medical requirements, so he became a civilian scientist instead. My mother was a teacher. We rarely talked about Bajor. Even changed our names around, first name-surname instead of the Bajoran way of surname first. We wanted to assimilate, I guess.”  
  
“You joined Starfleet,” he pointed out. “Looks like you assimilated nicely.”  
  
She looked embarrassed. “I may not have grown up in the refugee camps, but I’m pretty sure the sympathy vote still helped get me through the Academy.”  
  
“What makes you say that?”  
  
She laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Look at me. Look at my service record. I barely scrape through my job, I’m constantly put on report for substandard work …” She sighed. “Sometimes I think I should have just stayed on Betazed and become a shuttle driver or something. I was happy there.”  
  
“But you wanted to better yourself?”  
  
“I wanted to see space.” She laughed again. “Ending up on the other side of the galaxy wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I’m … I don’t fit on Voyager. The ship would be better off with someone whose work doesn’t need triple-checking. Someone … competent.”  
  
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he advised her. “You’re not the only one on the crew who doesn’t fit the Starfleet mould, remember?”  
  
She smiled. “So how about you? What made you join the Maquis?”  
  
“I like a good fight,” he grinned. “Also, my main career choices on Telfas were mining and bartending, and I wanted to see space, too.”  
  
“How did you join?”  
  
They had reached the caves, and Bendera indicated she should scan the walls for mineral deposits while he searched for signs of animal life. “I kind of fell into it,” he admitted. “I was drinking at a bar on Telfas when a fight broke out. Three big Telfan guys against a man and a woman. I went to school with those guys and never liked them, so I thought I’d even the odds. Not that the strangers really needed my help – they held their own. But they were grateful, so they invited me back to their ship and told me about the Maquis. They said they were looking for crew members, and I knew my way around an engine room, so I joined them.”  
  
“Commander Janeway and Lieutenant Ayala?” Celes guessed.  
  
“Right.” Bendera stilled and held up a hand. “I’m detecting life signs ten metres ahead. Some kind of small mammal.”  
  
Celes held back and continued scanning the cave walls while Bendera slipped further into the cave. Several minutes later he returned holding something dead that looked like a giant rodent. “Dinner,” he grinned.  
  
Celes tried to suppress her distaste. “I’m detecting veins of hematite in these walls,” she indicated. “We could mine it and convert it to bolster the engine coils.”  
  
“See?” he said approvingly. “You’re not so incompetent.”  
  
She smiled and was about to answer him when her commbadge chirped twice, urgently. Her face changed. “What is it?” he asked.  
  
“I set the shuttle’s comm system to alert me if any alien vessels entered sensor range,” she whispered.  
  
Bendera looked at her with respect. “Smart,” he said, and tapped his own commbadge. “Bendera to Ballard and Swinn. We may be about to have company. Get to the transport coordinates as soon as you can. We’re beaming up.”  
  
~Acknowledged,~ answered Ballard.  
  
Bendera nodded to Celes. “Let’s go. We’ll come back for the hematite later, if we can.”  
  
When they met at the transport site, Swinn was carrying a basketful of fruit that might have been apples, if apples were white, and Ballard had a case filled with root vegetables. They both looked a little disconcerted at the sight of Bendera’s rodent, but said nothing. “Energise,” Bendera said, and they rematerialised on the shuttle’s transporter pad. Celes immediately moved to the ops station. “There’s a small ship on an intercept course, five million kilometres from our position. They’ve detected us.”  
  
“Arkaan?” asked Bendera. Celes shook her head. “I don’t recognise it. We’re being hailed.”  
  
“Onscreen.”  
  
The viewscreen switched to an image of a yellow-skinned humanoid alien with large dark eyes, a long narrow mouth and a small snub nose. “Greetings,” it said. “I am Torna of the Saklat Fealty.”  
  
“I’m Kurt Bendera of the Federation shuttlecraft Drake,” Bendera replied.  
  
“May I enquire as to your presence in this area?”  
  
“We’re on a peaceful mission, looking for supplies.”  
  
“You are not native to this region. How did you get here? Your vessel is not capable of speeds higher than warp six, and we have not detected a mothership.”  
  
Bendera hesitated. They seemed friendly enough, but so had the Arkaan, on first contact. “Our main vessel is several light years distant,” he answered cautiously. “We’ve had some encounters with a species called the Arkaan. This crew is on a scouting mission while the ship undergoes repairs.”  
  
“The Arkaan.” The Saklat’s narrow mouth curled in what Bendera thought was disgust. “We know them well. Can we offer any assistance? Our homeworld is nearby. We may be able to provide you with whatever supplies you need.”  
  
Bendera weighed his options. This could be some kind of trap, but it could also be exactly what they needed. He glanced quickly at his crew; they were looking back at him hopefully. He turned back to Torna. “Thank you,” he said. “That would be very welcome.”  
  
Torna nodded. “I will send you the coordinates of our home planet. You are welcome to stay as long as you need, to replenish your supplies. Torna out.”  
  
Bendera leaned back in his chair. “Okay,” he said, half to himself. “Let’s give this a try.” He set the helm to the coordinates the Saklat ship had sent and engaged at warp three.  
  
=/\=  
  
There were no more calculations, no more hours shut away with Annorax. Janeway was no longer the favoured protégée. It was clear there had been a game-changing conflict between them, but since Janeway wasn’t talking, Tom Paris could only guess at the details.  
  
She’d barely spoken to him for weeks. He’d tried, at first, wanting to make amends for his outburst in the anteroom. But his attempts at conversation were coolly rebuffed. He’d tried cracking jokes and she’d just looked at him, unsmiling. He’d tried asking about her past – which ships she’d served on, where she’d lived on Earth – and she’d given him clipped, closed replies. He’d tried talking about what the Voyager crew might be doing, and she’d responded in a monotone that she was certain they were alive and well. He’d tried, but eventually, he’d given up.  
  
He had started spending time with Obrist, the first officer, who taught him a couple of Krenim board games and told him stories of the Krenim homeworld as it was centuries ago. Mostly they spent time in the anteroom while Janeway shut herself in her quarters. Tom had no idea what she did in there, alone all day long.  
  
Then came the day when the ship’s alert sounded and Obrist leapt up from the game table and rushed to the bridge. Because he was curious, and figured all Annorax was going to do was throw him off the bridge or maybe confine him to quarters, Paris followed. He slipped through the doors just behind Obrist and melted into the shadows, hoping he wouldn’t be noticed.  
  
“Sir, what’s happening?” Obrist asked.  
  
“We’re preparing for a temporal incursion,” replied Annorax.  
  
Obrist stiffened. “I did not realise our calculations had advanced enough for an incursion.”  
  
“I had an inspiration last night,” Annorax’s voice held an undercurrent of excitement. “By my calculations the eradication of the Ram Izad species will result in a fifty-two percent restoration of the Krenim timeline.”  
  
“Sir, it’s too soon,” Obrist protested.  
  
“When time offers you an opportunity, you don’t ignore it.” Annorax watched as a planet loomed in the viewscreen. “Take us into high orbit. Full power to the weapon.”  
  
Paris couldn’t keep silent any longer. Stepping away from the wall, he addressed Annorax. “Please. You don’t have to do this.”  
  
Annorax looked straight through him. “Target the focal point and fire.”  
  
Paris looked, pleading, to Obrist, who met his gaze with an unreadable one of his own, then closed his eyes. “Firing, sir.”  
  
“Trace elements?”  
  
“Diminishing.”  
  
“Counterindications?”  
  
“None so far.”  
  
Annorax stood. “Scan the continuum. Bring the results to my office. You have the bridge, Obrist.”  
  
As soon as the door slid shut behind him, Paris was over at Obrist’s station. “How can you stand this?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “I know you don’t share your captain’s ideals. He’s insane. Surely you see that.”  
  
Obrist sent him a glance. “Not here. We will talk later.”  
  
When he returned to quarters, Paris was unsurprised to see that Janeway’s door was, as usual, firmly closed. This time he didn’t let it stop him. He rapped lightly on the door and without waiting for her summons, walked straight in.  
  
Too late, he realised he should have waited. Janeway was rubbing her wet hair with a towel and clearly hadn’t heard him; her back was to the doorway and she was wearing some kind of robe that clung to her damp skin, stopping him in his tracks. Tom closed his eyes. He was so headed for one hundred years in the brig if they ever made it back to Voyager.  
  
Just as he was wondering whether he could sneak back out, she turned. Paris started fumbling out an apology, fully expecting an arctic blast from the Janeway glare. Instead, she waited til he’d finished and shrugged. “You’re a medic. It’s not like you haven’t seen it before.”  
  
“It’s not the same,” he muttered without thinking, and she folded her arms (he wished she hadn’t folded her arms; it shifted the fabric of the robe over her form in ways that made him extremely uncomfortable) and raised an eyebrow at him. Paris didn’t know where to look. “I mean, it’s one thing to treat someone lying injured on a biobed, and another thing entirely when you’re dressed in, um.” He gestured at the robe. “That.”  
  
Was she smirking at him?  
  
Janeway tossed her towel in the general direction of a chair and dropped casually onto the couch. “You came in here for a reason. Report, Lieutenant.”  
  
Her tone was military crisp, but the way she crossed her legs and rested an arm along the back of the couch was making it hard for him to focus. She gestured for him to sit beside her and he perched awkwardly on the edge of the couch. “Ah, it’s about Obrist. Uh, there was another incursion. And Obrist wasn’t happy. I’ve been getting to know him lately and he’s been more than willing to share information about this ship. And he’s not the only one. This crew has been following Annorax on his crazy quest for centuries and they’re tired of it. They want it to end.”  
  
“You think they’d be willing to mutiny?”  
  
“I think they’re pretty close to it.” He bent toward her. “That’s not all. This ship is protected from conventional weapons as long as it’s out of phase with normal space-time, but Obrist says if you take the temporal core offline, the shields are incredibly weak. A photon grenade could penetrate them.”  
  
She looked like she was absorbing the information. “Any chance you can convince Obrist to help us get a message to Voyager?”  
  
“If they’re still out there?”  
  
He felt the cushions shift and she was on her feet before him, hands on her hips, legs planted. “They’re out there. And I need you to find them, Lieutenant.”  
  
Tom stood, looking down at her face, trying not to look any lower. He swallowed. “I’ll do my best, Commander.”  
  
“Good.” She stepped aside. “And, Paris? Next time you want to visit my quarters, I suggest you wait until you’re invited.”  
  
=/\=  
  
As the senior staff filed into the briefing room, Chakotay pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the headache he’d had for days. He greeted each of them by name as they sat. “So, what’s for dinner?” Torres asked.  
  
Neelix dished out the meals and Torres groaned. “Ration pack 187.”  
  
“It’s not so bad,” Kim said, everlastingly cheerful. “Kind of reminds me of the hair soup I used to eat in a little place in Chinatown when I was a cadet.”  
  
Torres snorted. “Hair soup. That’s a pretty accurate comparison.”  
  
“You’re pretty picky for someone who comes from a culture that considers live worms a delicacy,” he teased her.  
  
“Shut up,” she retorted, but she was grinning.  
  
When they’d finished their hair soup, Chakotay asked for status reports. Surprisingly, although the ship still looked like a derelict and many decks were inaccessible, the basic systems were in relatively good shape. The one exception was the starboard nacelle; Torres had still been unable to repair the damage. Chakotay shook his head. “We can’t stay in this nebula any longer. We have to get out there, make allies, build a fighting force and rescue the rest of our crew.” He stood, hands planted on the table. “B’Elanna, I need warp drive online by tomorrow. Deputise whoever you need to make it happen.”  
  
Torres lifted her chin. “Understood, Captain.”  
  
Chakotay sat back down as they moved out of the room, rubbing gently at his forehead. He heard a slight sound, looked up and realised that Seska had lingered behind the others. “Captain, are you all right?”  
 He looked a question at her, and she explained, “Your headache.”  
  
“You can tell?”  
  
“I am a medic,” she pointed out.  
  
He shrugged. “It’s just a headache. I don’t want to bother Kes with it.”  
  
“I can help you,” she offered, and as he started to demur, she went on, “It’s no bother, Captain.”  
  
Chakotay submitted. A cool hypospray was pressed to his neck and for the first time in days he felt his head begin to clear. “Thanks,” he murmured, and then he felt her hands in his hair, her fingertips drawing lazy circles on his scalp. He went still.  
  
“Ensign?”  
  
He felt light pressure on his temples, on his jaw. “It’s a Bajoran relaxation technique,” she murmured. “Purely therapeutic, Captain, and I promise it will help you more than a hypospray.”  
  
He felt his eyes closing of their own volition. He wasn’t sure whether it was the hypospray or her gentle fingers but he felt the pressure inside his head start to ease. “Carry on,” he mumbled, and felt her shift to stand in front of him, her thumbs pressing lightly on his cheekbones, fingers cradling his head. He felt lulled, boneless.  
  
He could hear her soft breathing, feel the brush of her leg against his thigh. Her hands moved to his shoulders, slipping under his uniform collar to caress his neck. He felt her knee slip between his own, her hair brush against his chin. There was a buzzing in his ears; he felt drunk. He felt, so lightly he wasn’t sure it had happened, her lips skim his mouth. Chakotay opened his eyes and kissed her back.  
  
In some corner of his mind, sanity still lived and was protesting that this could not be happening, but the rest of him couldn’t have cared less. He pulled her onto his knees and shoved his hands beneath her uniform jacket. Seska wound her arms around his neck and he stood, still kissing her, her legs around his hips, and pushed her down onto the conference table. His commbadge chirped and he ignored it. She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down on top of her.  
  
~Tuvok to Chakotay. Captain, are you all right?~  
  
Chakotay fought through a fog to make sense of the sound. He pulled away from Seska’s hands and lips, stumbling backward. He had to swallow twice before he could answer. “I’m here, Lieutenant. Go ahead.”  
  
~I have detected a vessel on the outskirts of the nebula. It is not Arkaan and does not appear to have detected us, but is running sensor scans of the area. Do you wish to make contact?~  
  
Chakotay wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Seska was still sprawled on the table, watching him with hooded eyes. He looked away. “Hold on, Tuvok. I’m on my way to the bridge.”  
  
He cut connection and forced himself to meet Seska’s eyes. “Ensign. I don’t know – I can’t explain what just happened. I can only apologise for my, uh, behaviour. If you wish to file a report against me, Lieutenant Tuvok would be the appropriate channel. Or if you need, ah, a counsellor …”  
  
Her laugh stopped him short. She slid off the table and stepped closer to him; he found himself moving backward to stay out of her reach. “I don’t need counselling, Captain,” she said over her shoulder as she left the briefing room.  
  
The buzzing in his ears subsided and Chakotay took a breath and stepped onto the bridge. “Onscreen, Tuvok.”  
  
A vessel half the size of Voyager appeared on the viewscreen. “Analysis?”  
  
“The vessel has two phaser banks and a full scientific sensor array. There appear to be several dozen humanoid lifeforms aboard, although the nebula gases are interfering to a degree with our sensors. They have now detected us and have changed course to intercept.”  
  
“Hail them.”  
  
A slightly fuzzy image of several grey-skinned humanoids appeared. Chakotay gave his standard greeting identifying their mission. The aiien at front and centre bowed in response. “I am Commander Sulawe of the Mawasi vessel Kicha. We are on a scientific mission, studying this nebula. May I ask what you are doing inside it?”  
  
“We have been through a series of battles and have taken refuge in the nebula to make repairs,” Chakotay explained. “Are you familiar with a species known as the Arkaan?”  
  
“We know them well. They attack our borders regularly, but our fleet has always managed to repel them.”  
  
“How about the Krenim?”  
  
The Mawasi commander shook his head. “I don’t believe so. Are they from this sector?”  
  
“In a manner of speaking.” Chakotay paused. “Commander, I have a story to tell that might be of interest to you, and I’d like to get to know you and your crew better. Perhaps we could beam you aboard?”  
  
  
**Stardate 48912.9**  
  
**\- Day 164 -**  
  
Ensign Renlay Sharr hoisted the sack of tubers over her shoulder and trudged up the hillside to the small settlement. Crewman Chell would be pleased, at least, that their small group would eat tonight, even if the taste of these potato-like vegetables left plenty to be desired. She sighed. What she wouldn’t give for a bowl of pasta marinara.  
  
“Dinner,” she announced, letting the sack fall to the rough-hewn table Crewman Mitchell had built when they realised they were stuck on this moon for the foreseeable future. Her companions looked up from their various activities. Ensign Batehart had been continuing his attempt to map the various routes each escape pod and shuttle might have taken when they’d abandoned Voyager; Lieutenants Chapman and Nicoletti were working on the power coils in the hand-held phasers, long since depleted of energy, trying to modify them to handle the power flow from one of their escape pods’ EPS conduits; Chell was busy with the pots and pans he’d fashioned out of pieces of the hull of Sharr and Mitchell’s pod when it crash-landed on the moon’s surface; and Mitchell was building a fire in the pit at the far end of their hut. Sharr sighed again. “Chell, I’ll give you a hand peeling these potato things.”  
  
It could be worse, she mused as she peeled the tubers with a small knife. They could have ended up on a less hospitable rock than this M-class moon, which she had to admit boasted plenty of edible plant life as well as some pretty scenery. She and Mitchell could have been stranded alone, and thought they had been until the other two pods arrived in orbit a week after they’d crashed, almost six weeks ago now. Worse, they could have been captured by the Arkaan, as she knew some of the Voyager crew had been. She remembered watching helplessly as the Arkaan ship tractored two pods into its cargo hold only hours after they’d left Voyager. Sharr didn’t want to think about what might have happened to Ensigns Molina and Ashmore, Lieutenant Rollins, and Crewman Andrews.  
  
“Dinner’s ready,” Chell announced an hour later, and they sat around the table spooning up the tuber casserole. “Not bad,” Chapman said cheerfully. Sharr hid a smile. Chapman would find the positives in any situation, and if there weren’t any, he’d make them up. He was right in a way, though. It beat leola root.  
  
She heard a familiar chirp and around the table, the crew stilled. “Was that what I think it was?” Batehart asked. Nicoletti leapt to her feet and started shoving aside PADDs and tools until she found her commbadge. It chirped again. Eyes wide, she pressed it. “Nicoletti here.”  
  
~Lieutenant, it’s Crewman Bendera,~ came the reply. ~It’s great to hear your voice. How are you?~  
  
“Bendera?” Nicoletti’s pretty face split into a grin. “Is it really you? Where are you?”  
  
~On our way to your position. Hold tight, Lieutenant. I’ve brought some friends. We’ll be landing in a few minutes. Bendera out.~  
  
There was a moment of silence, then the six stranded crewmembers were on their feet, laughing, shouting, embracing each other. Sharr wiped tears from her eyes as she flung her arm around Chell’s thick blue neck. “Thank God,” she teased him. “I thought I was doomed to spend the rest of my days eating your cooking.”  
  
“You should be so lucky,” he retorted. “Maybe when we get back to Voyager I’ll ask the Captain for a transfer to the kitchen.”  
  
They heard the Drake’s engines as it eased into a landing, and ran outside. As the landing bay door lowered to the ground, Bendera stepped out wreathed in smiles. Sharr was about to throw her arms around him in a display she knew was very un-Starfleet, but she didn’t care, when she realised he was accompanied by two yellow-skinned aliens. She stopped short.  
  
Bendera introduced the aliens as Torna and Kuvit of the Saklat Fealty. “These good people found us surveying a planet twelve light years from here,” he explained. “We’ve told them what happened to Voyager and they’ve generously agreed to help us locate the rest of the crew. You’re the fifth group we’ve found. Their ship is in orbit. We’ll take you up in the shuttle and head back to the Saklat homeworld. Then we’ll keep looking for the others, and hopefully Voyager.”  
  
On the trip to the Saklat homeworld, Sharr filled Bendera in on their adventures since departing Voyager: the white-knuckle manoeuvres she’d employed to get their escape pod away from the Arkaan ship that had chased them into the atmosphere of a gas giant, how the Arkaan had given up and she and Mitchell had eventually dared to leave the planet’s atmosphere, the damage their navigational array had taken from the planet’s gases, how they’d been forced into an emergency landing on a nearby moon. She told him how the pods commanded by Nicoletti and Chapman had arrived within a week, also seeking sanctuary from the constant Arkaan attacks, and how they’d been living in fear ever since that the Arkaan would find them.  
  
Bendera gave her shoulder a squeeze at the last part. “You’re safe now, Ensign,” he assured her. “The Saklat have been a godsend.” He explained the Drake’s rescue and listed the crew he and his shuttle-mates had found with the help of the Saklat. “There are still over a hundred of us missing,” he went on. “But we’ll find them.”  
  
“And then what?” Sharr asked.  
  
“Then, I’m hoping to convince the Saklat to help us find Voyager, form an alliance against the Krenim weapon ship and put an end to Annorax’s screwing with history.”  
  
Sharr nodded emphatically. “Now that’s a timeline I want to be a part of.”  
  
=/\=  
  
The encounter with the Mawasi ship had been even more fortuitous than Captain Chakotay had dared to hope. When he’d explained Annorax’s mission and the countless changes it had wrought in the timeline, the Mawasi were outraged and promptly suggested, no, _insisted_ , they join Voyager in their search for the weapon ship and their captured crew. As soon as Voyager’s warp drive was back online they’d followed the Mawasi ship to their planet. He had assigned Torres, Kim and Seska to assist the Mawasi with installing temporal shielding on the ships they’d volunteered to aid them. It was with no small relief that he personally transported Seska to one of the Mawasi vessels.  
  
Ever since the – he mentally searched for an appropriate word – _incident_ in the briefing room, he’d made it a goal to avoid being alone with Seska. On a ship staffed by only eight crewmembers, including himself, that had not been an easy task. While she was present on the ship he’d found himself avoiding even thinking about that evening; with her absence, he tried to reason through what had happened. He’d been exhausted, lonely, troubled, afraid. She had offered relief and solace, the gift of intimate contact. And yet, his reaction to her had been out of all proportion. He’d never even looked at her in a desirous way before; in fact, if he’d ever thought of her, it had been with a slight sense of unease. So why was it that the supposedly therapeutic touch of her hands on his face had turned him into a sex-crazed animal?  
  
Three days after Seska had gone over to the Mawasi ship he was reading Kes’ weekly medical report, which mentioned in passing that a hypospray was missing from their temporary sickbay in Cargo Bay One, and he suddenly remembered the medication Seska had given him that night. What had she put in that hypospray? And, if she had somehow doctored the spray with some kind of aphrodisiac, _why_? he wondered. What kind of Starfleet officer would drug her captain so she could seduce him?  
  
The implication struck him like a fist to the solar plexus. Could Seska be the spy he’d half-suspected Section 31 had planted on his ship?  
  
But if so, what was her mission? No matter how many scenarios he played out inside his head, he couldn’t fathom it. And for now, he didn’t have the time to consider it further. Voyager and the Mawasi fleet were preparing for battle, and he needed all of his attention on that.  
  
=/\=  
  
“Kes to Ensign Kim.”  
  
After a moment, Kim replied from the second Mawasi vessel, where he and Ensign Seska were almost finished installing the temporal shield generators. ~Kim here. What’s up, Kes?~  
  
“I was wondering if you had a few minutes sometime today. I’d like to run something past you.”  
  
~Sure thing. Let me finish up here and I’ll contact you when I’m done. Kim out.~  
  
Several hours later, Kim contacted her on her personal console. “What can I help you with, Kes?”  
  
“I wanted to ask your opinion on something. I don’t know enough about Voyager’s systems to figure out whether I’m bothered by nothing important.” She took a moment to think about her phrasing. “Several weeks ago, when I was assisting Ensign Seska with the power fluctuations in the impulse drive, I noticed that she appeared to be tying the comm system into the EPS conduits. I asked her about it and she said I must have been mistaken. But I’m sure of what I saw. Could there have been a valid reason for doing this, Ensign? Could it have helped stabilise the impulse power grid?”  
  
She saw Kim’s brow furrow onscreen. “I can’t think of any reason she’d do that. The comm system runs off a different power frequency to the impulse drive. There’d be no point using it to stabilise the power flow to the engines.”  
  
Kes bit her lip. “What should I do? Should I report it to the Captain?”  
  
Kim thought about it. “I could do a bit of poking around, see if I can figure out what she was doing. I’m almost done with the shield generator here, and B’Elanna’s scheduled to check it over tomorrow. I’ll transport back to Voyager now. Meet me on Deck Seven in fifteen minutes.”  
  
=/\=  
  
Paris was teaching Obrist to play poker when Annorax commed his first officer and instructed him to bring the captives to the bridge immediately. By the time they arrived on the bridge, the timeship was at red alert. Annorax swivelled in his chair, fingers steepled, and smiled at Janeway and Paris with no warmth at all.  
  
“Why are we here?” Janeway demanded.  
  
“We've located your ship.” There was an undercurrent of triumph in his voice. “I thought you’d like to join me in watching as I destroy it.”  
  
Paris went cold and gripped the back of a chair. Janeway said, strangled, “No.”  
  
Annorax turned back to the viewscreen. Voyager hung in space, her sleek white lines marred by battle scars. “She appears in bad shape. Her shields are offline. We won’t need the temporal weapon – conventional ones will do it. Arm torpedoes,” he addressed a crewman. “Fire when ready.”  
  
Janeway stumbled down to the main bridge level. “Don’t do this,” she implored, fists clenched at her sides. “Please. You don’t have to do this.”  
  
“Firing, sir,” said the crewman, and she watched as the torpedoes arced toward Voyager and the ship, her home, exploded into pieces before her eyes. Disbelieving, she let out a wail and fell to her knees. In an instant Paris was at her side, helping her to her feet, holding her close. “Come on,” he whispered, his own voice choked. “Come on. I’ll get you out of here.”  
  
At the door she couldn’t help looking back at the screen, where millions of tiny fragments of hull were already fading into space. The image blurred as her tears spilled over.  
  
Annorax smiled.  



	3. Reversion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy misuse of "Year of Hell".

**Stardate 48921.4**  
  
**\- Day 173 -**  
  
When he realised that the meals the Krenim crewmen left outside Janeway’s quarters had gone uneaten for over a week, Tom Paris knew it was time to act. He knocked gently on her door. “Commander? Let me in.”  
  
His answer was silence. Paris knocked again. “Commander, I’m not going to go away.”  
  
“Leave me alone.”  
  
Paris entered a short command into the control plate and the door slid open. The room was in darkness; apparently she’d activated the blind on the viewport so that not even the stars provided illumination. The square of light that fell into the room from the open doorway only penetrated far enough for him to see that debris scattered the floor. Apparently she had smashed everything in the room that could be broken.  
  
“I told you to leave me alone.” Her voice sounded muffled, emotionless. He thought it was coming from the couch near the windows.  
  
“You’ve been alone in here for days. Enough is enough.” Paris made his way cautiously in her direction, stumbling occasionally on the obstacles strewn across the floor. He heard her sigh, close by, and felt for the edge of the couch, sitting carefully.  
  
“I can’t see a thing in here,” he said eventually, after minutes of silence. “Computer, lights at twenty percent.”  
  
She was huddled in the corner of the couch with her knees clasped to her chest. Her hair was tangled over her face and shoulders and she appeared to have slept in her clothes; it was possible she hadn’t showered or changed since Voyager had been – He stopped that train of thought in its tracks. It was too big, too painful. Too soon.  
  
“Commander,” he said gently. “You have to eat.”  
  
She said nothing.  
  
“Okay,” he tried again, and stood. “Come on. You need a sonic shower.”  
  
She didn’t move. So he scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom.  
  
She fought him like a wildcat – thrashing legs, teeth bared, fingers curled into claws. But he held her tight and close and bore her flailing fists until he could deposit her fully clothed in the shower recess and turned it on high. At that she slumped against the wall, her face turned away. He kept a hand on her shoulder just in case she decided to fight him again, but by the time he turned off the sonic waves all the fight seemed to have drained out of her.  
  
She didn’t protest when he picked her up again and carried her back to the couch, simply resumed her previous pose; knees clutched to her chest, head bowed. He went to the food dispenser and ordered something he’d tried previously and knew bore a passing resemblance to chicken soup. “Eat,” he commanded, thrusting it toward her. Kathryn looked at him blearily – progress, thought Tom – and he continued, “I’m not taking no for an answer.”  
  
Slowly, Janeway took the bowl. “If I eat it, will you go away and leave me alone?”  
  
“No. But eat it, anyway.”  
  
She took a reluctant sip and he heard her empty stomach growl. Before she realised it, she had picked up the bowl and drained it. Paris smiled and handed her a glass of water, which she also drank. “Better?” he asked.  
  
Tears filled her eyes and she started to sob – great, heaving, ugly sobs. After a moment Tom got over his shock and pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair and murmuring meaningless words of comfort. She clung to him, her wet face against his throat, bawling out her pain and anguish. Eventually she quieted, curled against his chest in the circle of his arms. He pressed his mouth to the top of her head. “I’m here,” he told her quietly.  
  
She pulled away and scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I need you to leave now.”  
  
“I can’t –”  
  
“Please.” She stood. “Just go.”  
  
He went.  
  
=/\=  
  
Within a month of meeting the Saklat and beginning the search for the missing Voyager crewmembers, Bendera and his team had found more than half of them and, with assistance from their new allies, brought them safely back to Saklat IV. Some, he knew, would be difficult to rescue; Sharr had told him at least four had been captured by the Arkaan, and according to Torna the Arkaan prison camps were desperate places, and well-guarded. Some seemed to have disappeared without a trace; he hoped they were holed up somewhere in safety, biding their time. Some were dead. Anderson and Mendez had been killed by Arkaan fire, reported Ensign Culhane. Boylan and Crag had also been attacked; debris from their pod had been strewn across the surface of an asteroid and showed traces of scorch marks from the phasers of an unidentified species. The escape pod holding Nozawa and Platt had been found drifting, rotating slowly around an F-type star, the two crewmen dead inside, victims of an environmental systems failure. Bendera found that one the hardest to accept. At least the others had died in battle.  
  
To his surprise, it was Celes who’d managed to find a good thirty percent of their refugees so far. She seemed to have a talent for divining the probable thought processes of the crew, and by extension the probable courses of their escape vessels. Bendera supposed he should stop being surprised. When he’d been assigned to the Drake with those three young ensigns he’d expected Celes to need coddling, but she’d shown him otherwise.  
  
She was in the seat beside him now, checking the coordinates of the subspace transponder signal they’d identified as belonging to the shuttlecraft Sacajawea. Lieutenant Mulcahey, Ensigns Dorado and Ming, and Crewman Telfer had been assigned to that shuttle, and Celes was particularly anxious to make sure her friend Billy Telfer was safe and well. “We’re approaching the planetary system,” she informed Bendera. “The beacon is transmitting from high orbit around the second planet.”  
  
“Slowing to half impulse. Approaching the planet.”  
  
“They’re hailing us!” Celes’ face lit up with joy. Bendera flicked the viewscreen on. Mulcahey’s grinning face filled it, and they could see Ming and Dorado at the ops and engineering stations behind him. “Hey there, USS Drake,” Mulcahey greeted them. “What’s a nice shuttle like you doing in a place like this?”  
  
Celes couldn’t contain herself. “Where’s Billy?” she asked desperately. “Is he okay?”  
  
“He’s fine,” Mulcahey assured her. “Well, he might disagree. He’s in the aft compartment. Says he has an upset stomach.”  
  
Celes sat back in relief.  
  
“Some things never change.” Bendera hid his smile; Telfer was an unrelenting hypochondriac. “So, Mulcahey, what’s news?”  
  
“Too much to tell over the comm. We have a base down on the surface. Why don’t you beam down with us? There’s food and shelter, and a few people who’ll be happy to see you.”  
  
An hour later, after they’d reunited happily with not only the crew of the Sacajawea but several others from the Voyager escape pods they had been unable to find, been shown around the small collection of shacks Mulcahey’s group had constructed, and eaten an interesting meal consisting of local flora and fauna, Mulcahey launched into their tale. It appeared that the Sacajawea had also been scouting for other evacuees, and had also made an alliance with an alien race, the Nihydron. “Never heard of them,” Bendera admitted. Mulcahey explained that they were scholars, collectors of history, and had been deeply offended by the idea of that history being altered by the whims of an obsessed fanatic.  
  
Bendera told their story, and finished by explaining his plan to convince the Saklat to locate Voyager and help them mount an attack on the weapon ship. “Do you think the Nihydron would be willing to join us?”  
  
“We can only ask,” Mulcahey said with enthusiasm.  
  
  
**Stardate 48949.3**  
  
**\- Day 201 -**  
  
They never spoke of the loss of Voyager. Paris had tried several times to bring it up; as grief-stricken as he was, he knew Janeway was taking it even harder, and he knew she wouldn’t begin to deal with it until she accepted it. But each time he tried, she cut him off flat.  
  
After he’d ambushed her in her quarters she stopped refusing meals, stopped spending all day and all night alone in her room. She showered and dressed each morning and joined him for breakfast in the anteroom. He wasn’t sure if she did it because it made her feel better, or because she just didn’t want him to see her distraught and debilitated again as he had that night. After a few days of them eating together in silence, she started to talk.  
  
She told him about her childhood in Indiana, her heroic father, her gentle mother, her firecracker sister. She talked about Starfleet Academy, how she’d been so happy there, how she’d thrived on learning everything she could from her instructors, how she’d felt as though she belonged. She began to tell him about her first Starfleet posting on the Al-Batani and what it was like to serve under Tom’s father, her captain, but all too soon she stopped talking about that. Paris was familiar with her service record; he knew she’d first met Chakotay on the Al-Batani. He tried asking careful questions to get her to mention him, surmising that acknowledging Chakotay’s existence would be the first step to accepting his death, and the deaths of their crew. But she would not.  
  
When she ran out of things she was willing to talk about, it was his turn. He talked about growing up with his overachieving older sisters and a father who expected great things of him, things that had always seemed to the young Tom Paris beyond his reach. He told her how he’d lost his virginity, a story that still made him squirm with remembered embarrassment, and was gratified when she laughed. He told her about Caldik Prime and its aftermath, a tale he could not tell without flinching, and when he finished and raised his eyes to her, he saw that hers were filled with tears. She had reached for his hand then, an act of wordless sympathy.  
  
One morning, when she came in for breakfast and he said “Morning, Commander,” she held up a hand and said, “I think it’s time you called me Kathryn.”  
  
“Okay, Kat,” he grinned, and she couldn’t help laughing. But after breakfast she fell quiet and retreated to her room, and when he rapped gently on her door she said, “Leave me alone, Tom.”  
  
She didn’t come out when it was time for the midday meal, or when Paris knocked again and invited her to play a hand of poker with Obrist and one of the other Krenim officers, or when their dinner arrived. When he called through her closed door that he was retiring for the night, she didn’t answer. Paris went to bed with a cold ache in the pit of his stomach and lay for hours before he finally, fitfully, slept.  
  
He dreamed of hours spent alone in his bedroom as a child, and the exhilaration of his first time riding a hovercycle, and the touch of human hands, both tender and unkind. He thought he was still dreaming when he felt a body slip beneath the sheets beside him and a hand creep tentatively over his chest. His arms came automatically around her and she shifted closer, fitting her body against his, her head nestling under his chin. “Hey,” he whispered, and she touched her fingertips to his lips and murmured, “Don’t say anything.”  
  
After a few minutes he heard her soft, even breathing and realised she was asleep. For him, sleep didn’t come again til many hours later.  
  
She wasn’t beside him when he woke, late, and she wasn’t at breakfast. When she finally came out of her room she had her hair pinned up in the complicated twist she used to wear on Voyager and her face bent to a portable tablet. “Morning, Kat,” Paris said, and she mumbled something, barely glancing at him as she exited the anteroom.  
  
When Obrist stopped in, Paris asked if he knew where Janeway was, and was told she was in the arboretum. Paris hadn’t even known the ship had one. She didn’t return until after he’d eaten dinner, and all he saw was her back as she disappeared into her quarters.  
  
But that night she crept into his bed again, and she slept the sleep of the innocent while he lay wakeful, staring at the ceiling, willing himself not to think about the way her body curled into his in slumber, the scent of her hair, the soft sounds she made in her sleep.  
  
By the fourth night he thought he might actually be going crazy. She’d shifted in her sleep and her leg was thrown languidly over his thigh, the length of her body pressed against him, her soft breath against his throat. He wanted to believe he was an honourable man, that he’d never take advantage of her, but he found his hand flattening on her lower back, pulling her closer against him, his fingers tangling in her hair. He was trembling. After a moment he realised her breathing had changed, felt her eyelashes brush his chin. She was awake.  
  
Tom tried to pull back, but she pressed a hand against his chest to still him, and then she turned her face a fraction and he felt her lips against his throat. He felt her tongue trace his adam’s apple and up along the line of his jaw, and he couldn’t hold still any longer. He dipped his head and caught her mouth with his own.  
  
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he tightened his arms around her and bit lightly at her lower lip, and she curved her body into his and threw herself into the kiss.  
  
It couldn’t last. He pulled back momentarily to gasp for air, clear his head a little, and as though a switch had flipped he felt her jerk away from him. She slipped out from his arms and was halfway to the door before he could speak.  
  
“ _Kat_ ,” he said through the sudden ache in his throat, and she said “I’m sorry,” and then she was gone. Again.  
  
Paris flopped back on the pillow and shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes.  
  
=/\=  
  
The closest Nihydron planet was two light years from the settlement. Mulcahey had suggested they proceed there immediately to introduce Bendera and Celes and explain their plan. The two Starfleet shuttles weren’t big enough to carry all the Voyager refugees, so Mulcahey decided they’d take the Sacajawea with minimal personnel and leave the Drake behind. Celes opted to stay behind – now that she’d reunited with Billy Telfer, she wasn’t keen to be parted from her best friend again in a hurry – so Mulcahey and Bendera took Ensign Dorado and Crewman Carlson for the ride. Dorado, a historian, had meshed well with the Nihydron they’d encountered so far, and Carlson had tactical experience and would be useful in helping convince the Nihydron that they could come up with a workable battle plan.  
  
In the end, it didn’t take long to persuade the Nihydron to join their crusade. Within a couple of weeks the Sacajawea was back at the settlement with several quickly-mobilised Nihydron battle cruisers in tow. The settlers dismantled their huts quickly and used the two Starfleet shuttles to transport all their belongings and personnel to the largest Nihydron ship. Bendera gave the Nihydron fleet commander the coordinates of the Saklat homeworld and the fleet headed for it at maximum warp.  
  
So as not to alarm the Saklat by the arrival of an unfamiliar, heavily-armed alien fleet at their homeworld, Bendera had transmitted their mission details ahead of time. He was expecting a measured, stately reception, but when they arrived at Saklat IV, he found what could only be described as a party.  
  
The Saklat had struck him as less the partying kind and more the type to get their kicks out of meditating or going on spirit quests, so Bendera figured the celebrations were down to the Voyager crew. He couldn’t have approved more. The Nihydron were flattered by the attention and any tension that might have marred their first contact with the Saklat was immediately defused. And besides, Bendera thought, if bringing the Voyager family back together wasn’t reason for a party, he didn’t know what was.  
  
He took a break from the energetic dancing Ensign Sharr had roped him into and flopped onto a comfortable couch next to Ensign Celes. “Hey, Tal,” he grinned at her. “Enjoying the party?”  
  
Celes turned luminous smiling eyes to him and it occurred to Bendera for the first time that she was really, really pretty. As she waved a hand that held a drink that was bright purple and very close to slopping all over him, it also occurred to him that she was really very drunk. He laughed. “Where’s Telfer?”  
  
Celes waved her drink in the opposite direction. “Telling that Nihydron doctor about the time he got worms. Or something.” She yawned, suddenly and explosively, and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m tired.”  
  
Bendera helped her up. “I’ll walk you to your quarters.”  
  
She stumbled occasionally and leaned on him a lot on the way back to the dormitory-like building the Saklat had prepared for the Voyager crew. From the outside it was squat and grey, but inside each crewmember had their own large, attractively decorated room with a bathroom attached. “Wow,” said Celes when she stepped inside. “This sure beats my old Academy dorm room. Or my quarters on Voyager, for that matter.”  
  
“Beats anywhere I’ve ever lived, too,” he said.  
  
Celes slumped down onto the couch and toed off her boots, patting the cushion beside her. “Sit with me for a bit,” she invited.  
  
Suddenly cautious, Bendera sat gingerly beside her, and she immediately settled herself against his shoulder, curling her feet up under her. “I used to be scared of you,” she said on the wake of another yawn, leaning back on his chest. “But now I think you’re really nice.”  
  
Bendera cleared his throat. She said drowsily, “You probably think I’m like your little sister or something. Most guys do.”  
  
At that moment, Bendera was definitely not thinking of her as a sister. Fortunately, she fell asleep on his shoulder a few minutes later, and he carefully carried her over onto her bed, tucked a blanket over her and left.  
  
The next morning, he and Lieutenant Mulcahey took point on the first strategy meeting between the Saklat, the Nihydron and the Voyager crew. Calling up a spatial map of nine sectors, Bendera indicated the coordinates Voyager had been at when the shuttles and escape pods were launched. “The ship was in bad shape when we left,” he said, “so the first priority would have been to start repairs. They would have needed somewhere safe to do that, hidden from the Arkaan and anyone else who wanted a piece of them. My guess is they headed either for this asteroid belt,” he indicated a section on the map, “or this nebula. The asteroid field might be a good source of minerals but given that the deflector had taken damage, they’d have had no protection from micro-meteoroid showers. The nebula would seem to offer a better hiding place.”  
  
Torna looked doubtful. “You left the ship several months ago, correct? Is it reasonable to believe they would still be in the region?”  
  
“The damage to the ship was extreme,” Mulcahey stated. “They had only a skeleton staff on board. It would have taken weeks, if not months, to get her spaceworthy again.”  
  
Jilana, the Nihydron fleet commander, spoke gently. “Has it occurred to you that Voyager and her senior crew may not have survived?”  
  
Stony silence met that suggestion.  
  
Jilana relented, inclining her head. “Whatever Voyager’s fate, we must stop this Krenim time weapon. Perhaps we should move on to discussing offensive strategies.”  
  
  
**Stardate 48964.9**  
  
**\- Day 216 -**  
  
“I figured I’d find you here.”  
  
He’d expected her to tense up at the sound of his voice, half-expected her to run away, but instead she put down her tablet and turned to him with an expression that looked like resignation. “Mr Paris,” she acknowledged him.  
  
“Kat,” he said, pointedly, and lowered himself onto the bench beside her. “What are you reading?”  
  
She looked down at the tablet on the bench beside her. “History.”  
  
His brow furrowed.  
  
“The history of species that never were,” she clarified. “This ship’s database of all the civilisations Annorax has ordered destroyed.”  
  
He waited silently for her to go on.  
  
“Annorax believes he’s saving the most important relics of each culture by keeping them in there. His library of antiquities.” She gestured toward a door at the opposite end of the arboretum. “Take a look sometime. You’ll find sculptures, plant species, replicas of buildings, literary works, even a few recipes. Hundreds of objects of beauty and creativity representing people who never existed, forgotten by everyone except the crew on this ship.” She paused. “In a way, we’re relics of a lost culture ourselves. I felt I owed it to them to remember.”  
  
It was the first time she had referred, even obliquely, to Voyager’s destruction. Paris wondered if this was one of the stages of her grief, and what kind of push-me, pull-me torture he’d have to endure this time in his efforts to help her through it.  
  
“You stopped coming to me at night,” he blurted. “Why?”  
  
As he’d expected, she turned away. And suddenly he couldn’t take it.  
  
“Kat.” He took her face in his hands, making her look at him. “For God’s sake, please talk to me. Please. I can’t do this anymore.”  
  
Her breath caught. “Why do you keep trying?” she asked.  
  
“Because I’m in love with you.”  
  
Her eyes went wide, then filled with tears. He caught one on his thumb as it spilled over. She said nothing, and finally he sighed.  
  
“You know where to find me,” he told her, and this time he was the one walking away.  
  
=/\=  
  
Celes slumped despairingly over the console. “Nothing,” she complained. “I could scan til the Prophets return to Bajor and still not find anything. There’s just too much space out there.”  
  
Renlay Sharr sent her a sympathetic look. “Why don’t you take a break? I’ll start scanning the next sector.”  
  
“Okay.” Celes dragged herself to the food dispenser and randomly punched in a number. Alien replicators were a lucky dip, she thought as a plate of something that resembled seaweed wrapped in a  tortilla materialised in front of her. She tried it, and was pleasantly surprised to find that despite its appearance it tasted not dissimilar to hasperat, without quite the same spicy kick. She sat behind the astrometrics screens where Sharr had started off the next scan and put her feet up on the console in front of her.  
  
Without turning around, Sharr said, “You know, when I said take a break, I meant get out of here. Take a walk, clear your head.” A note of amusement crept into her voice. “Go talk to Kurt Bendera.”  
  
Celes’ boots dropped to the ground with a thud. “What do you mean?” she asked defensively.  
  
“You know what I mean,” Sharr grinned.  
  
“Crewman Bendera is working with the fleet commanders,” Celes stammered. “He’s far too busy to be talking to me.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure he’d make the time for you.” Sharr snickered. Something on the astrometrics screen flickered and she stared at it hard, then tapped a few commands into the console, zooming in on a section of the screen. “Tal,” she said urgently. “Come here.”  
  
Celes was at her shoulder in an instant. “What is it?”  
  
“A duranium signature.” Sharr indicated the readout. “It matches the composition of Voyager’s hull plating.”  
  
“Is it them?” gasped Celes.  
  
“Too far away to say. It could be Voyager, or it could just be a piece of the hull. Maybe they had to jettison a hull section after a breach. Or …” Sharr stopped. The alternative was not something she wanted to put into words.  
  
“I’ll tell Ku- uh, Crewman Bendera,” Celes said. “He’ll want to send a scouting party.”  
  
“You do that,” Sharr said, grinning again. “Tell him I said hi.”  
  
=/\=  
  
Kathryn Janeway had faced down Cardassians, Kazon, Romulans and Vidiians, but the fear she felt now was of a different nature altogether. She had stayed in the arboretum through the dinner hour and long past it, and had finally come to the conclusion that, if she was fated to spend the rest of her life on this ship, this was something she could no longer hide from. She squared her shoulders and knocked.  
  
“Come in,” Tom Paris said dully.  
  
His quarters were in darkness, but the stars through the viewport illuminated them enough for her to see he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his chest bare as though he’d begun to undress and lost interest. Before she could second-guess herself, she crossed the room and sat beside him.  
  
“Hi,” he said quietly.  
  
“Tom,” she began, and stopped. She opened her mouth to say something, and what came out was, “I miss them so much.”  
  
“I know,” he said, and she turned to him, going gratefully into his arms. “I know, Kat. I do, too.”  
  
She felt his hands in her hair and leaned her face against his throat, closing her eyes. “You’re too good to me,” she said, her voice muffled. “I’ve treated you shamefully and all you’ve ever done is be my friend.”  
  
She felt him smile and pulled back a little to look into his face; in the starlight he looked different, older. Sadder. She reached up, wanting to smooth the sadness away, and he turned his face into her hand, his mouth against the sensitive skin of her wrist. She watched him close his eyes, felt his breath against her skin. Her pulse jumped. Her head felt suddenly light, her skin peppered where his lips touched it.  
  
She wanted more.  
  
She curled her fingers into his hair and felt him wind his arms around her, one cradling the back of her head, the other snaking round her waist, pulling her closer. She slid onto his lap, pushing her body into his. She felt him catch his breath and tightened her hold on him, suddenly afraid he'd pull away. “Kat,” he began, and she touched her fingers to his lips.  
  
“Shh, Tom, please ... just let me stay. Please.” She brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth.  
  
The effect was electrifying. She heard him say, softly, “God,” his whole body tensing as she gave into her instincts and licked delicately at his lips. For a moment his grip on her loosened and she felt him start to pull away. So she kissed him.  
  
That kiss. She couldn't have found words to describe it. She only knew that the universe could implode right now and it wouldn't be enough to tear her away from this man.  
  
Tom knew that if this happened, there would be no coming back for him. He made one final effort to hold himself back from her. But then she rocked against him and he felt the swell of her breasts through her tunic, the heat of her against his aching groin, her soft mouth exploring his, and all thoughts of escape vanished. He was trembling as he eased her down, moving over her, trying to press every inch of himself to every inch of her. She clutched at him, as desperate as he was, and suddenly it wasn't enough. He had to be against her skin.  
  
He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, and fumbled desperately with the fastenings at the back of her tunic, finally wrenching the fabric away. He cupped her breasts, thumbs dragging across her nipples, and she gasped into his mouth. She sat up, tugging at the fastening of his pants until he dragged them off and kicked them away. She pulled away long enough to stand, kick off her leggings. Then she climbed onto him, legs locked around his hips, her mouth pressed to his throat as if she could drown in the scent of his skin.  
  
He was hard and hot against her. She took him in her hands, felt him pulse and shudder. He flattened his palm against her spine, arching her against him. She felt intoxicated, almost boneless as he lowered her onto her back. He moved between her legs, his fingers walking down her hip and slowly, carefully along her thigh, into slick heat, dragging a low moan from her. Suddenly, inexplicably, she was afraid. She tried to turn her face away, but he bent down and kissed her with such agonising, unhurried delicacy, his fingers sliding inside her with such deliberate and practised skill, that her breath began to come in gasps and her body strained toward him.  
  
“Look at me,” he whispered, and she opened dark and starlit eyes. He took her lower lip between his teeth and she whimpered at the answering throb low in her belly. “Kat,” he breathed into her mouth. “Let me in.”  
  
Eyes wide and gazing into his, she did.  
  
  
**Stardate 48997.2**  
  
**\- Day 249 -**  
  
“Another incursion, sir?”  
  
Annorax turned at the barely-tempered insolence in his first officer’s voice. “Is there a problem, Obrist?”  
  
“I’m curious, sir,” Obrist replied. “Your calculations do not appear to predict any increase in the size or configuration of the Krenim Imperium. I do not understand the purpose of this incursion.”  
  
“Then it’s fortunate that I don’t require your understanding. Commence firing.”  
  
Obrist jabbed at the console. “Firing,” he said, surly. “The meteoroid has been erased from history. No counterindications so far.”  
  
“Good.” Annorax nodded. “Map the continuum and bring your reports to my office.”  
  
Obrist nodded shortly and turned back to his console. The long looping trails representing the space-time shockwave curved gracefully on the display terminal. He could not fathom Annorax’s interest in destroying a paltry meteoroid. Grimly, Obrist wondered if his captain had finally, irrevocably lost his mind.  
  
His gaze followed the path of the temporal shockwave and he began to pay closer attention. At some point in history, the meteoroid had wandered into a solar system three sectors distant and collided with a small moon. The majority of the meteoroid matter had then been ejected out into space, but the moon had imploded. Shrapnel from that moon had impacted a nearby planet, which at the time had been inhabited by the Xilith, a scientifically advanced but non-warp-capable humanoid species. The moon-rock impact had triggered a catastrophic ice age and a seismic shift in the planet’s core, killing all life on the planet.  
  
Obrist shook his head. Annorax was, apparently, intending to restore that species to the space-time continuum. He could not understand why.  
  
He handed command of the bridge to the helm officer and went to his quarters, where he set his personal tablet to run a search on the logs of previous incursions. It took several minutes before the tablet alerted him to a match. Obrist pulled the data tablet toward him.  
  
One hundred and forty years ago, Annorax had ordered the destruction of a G-type star at the centre of the solar system that was home to the Ker’ok species. That species had been wiped from history, triggering a sixty-one percent restoration of the Krenim Imperium. But a side-effect had been that the minor black hole created by the star’s destruction had altered the gravitational direction of a nearby asteroid belt, splintering several of those asteroids into meteoroids, one of which had collided with the Xilith moon. Annorax had, of course, foreseen this eventuality, and had duly noted the accomplishments that he believed represented the best the Xilith race had had to offer. He had, however, neglected to collect any relics, perhaps dismissing the Xilith’s achievements as unworthy of record.  
  
Obrist quickly tapped into the antiquary records. It seemed that the Xilith, a peace-loving race, had shown no interest in travelling the stars, but were keenly curious about them. They had developed deep-space telescopy and sensor technology of incredible and far-reaching accuracy. One innovation, a long-range sensor probe, exceeded the most advanced in Krenim sensor equipment. Obrist sat back. Annorax had noted that the probe technology existed but had not recorded its specifications. It was clear that Annorax wished to restore, and use, the Xilith sensor specifications. What he could not understand was why.  
  
What was Annorax looking for?  
  
It came to him on a wave of nausea. Hands shaking slightly, Obrist tapped in a new query, bringing up the sensor logs from the destruction of Voyager. He went over them minutely, double-checking each image frame against the log’s time indexes, the sensor analyses of mineral composites, the readings of the energy output from the ship’s explosion. Finally, he sat back, almost unable to believe what he was seeing. He watched the replay of the Starfleet vessel exploding once again, and shook his head.  
  
“It’s a fake,” he whispered to himself.  
  
=/\=  
  
In the end, due to Bendera’s insistence that there was no more time to waste on scouting parties, the entire fleet had gone seeking the duranium signature Sharr had detected. Bendera and the rest of the Drake crew had joined the Saklat vessels, along with half of the sixty-four Voyager crewmen they’d rescued; the other half joined Mulcahey’s group on the Nihydron ships.  
  
They had reached the coordinates after ten days of travelling at warp six, the highest speed the Saklat ships could maintain for any length of time. As they got closer it became clear that they had not found Voyager whole. They dropped out of warp near a twin-sun system. Bendera stared at the image of the large hull fragment rotating slowly onscreen. It appeared to be one of the shuttlebay doors.  
  
That, in itself, was not surprising or particularly alarming. There were any number of reasons why the shuttlebay door might have been expelled, chief among them the fact that Voyager had been through a series of battles before the majority of the crew left the ship, and there was a good chance the ship had had to retreat to the safety of the nearby Class 9 nebula before being able to retrieve it. The worst case scenario, and one Bendera refused to allow himself to believe, was that this was all that was left of Voyager after it had been, somehow, destroyed.  
  
“Scan for warp trail particles,” he instructed the Saklat operations officer, and after a moment she replied, “There doesn’t appear to have been recent warp engine activity in this region. However, I am detecting a subspace signature that may be emanating from a beacon.”  
  
Bendera went to look over her shoulder. “That’s a Starfleet signature,” he said, excitement quickening his voice. “May I?” He indicated his wish to use her control panel; the Saklat stepped aside and Bendera swiftly entered a series of commands. “It’s a set of coordinates,” he announced eagerly. “Transferring them to the helm now.”  
  
Two weeks at maximum warp later, the fleet arrived at a planetary system. Bendera suggested the Saklat ship enter the system alone, leaving the rest of the fleet at a polite distance, and Torna agreed.  
  
“There’s an M-class world,” Sharr reported, standing behind the Saklat pilot and reading the navigation panel. “Seven billion life forms, a planetary defence grid, several dozen warp-capable ships in orbit. One is approaching our position.”  
  
“Hail them,” Torna ordered. A grey-skinned humanoid appeared on screen and Torna addressed him. “I am Torna of the Saklat Fealty.”  
  
“I am Commander Sulawe of the Mawasi vessel Kicha,” the alien replied. “What is your purpose?”  
  
“Our intentions are peaceful. We are seeking a ship named Voyager, not native to this quadrant of space. We were led to believe that this ship might be here.”  
  
At that, Sulawe stepped back and indicated that someone should move forward into view.  
  
“B’Elanna!” Kurt Bendera shouted in delight, and the half-Klingon’s face broke into a grin. She said, “I never thought I’d see your ugly face again, Kurt. I have to say I’m pretty happy I was wrong.”  
  
“Where’s the Captain and the others? Where’s Voyager?” Bendera couldn’t get the words out fast enough.  
  
Torres held up a hand. “Everyone’s here. Voyager is docked at the Mawasi planet while we finish repairs. The Captain is overseeing them. I happened to be on the Kicha fine-tuning their temporal shields when we detected your ship.” She laughed. “It’s so good to see you, Kurt. Have you come across any of the other crew?”  
  
“I don’t even know where to start,” Bendera grinned. “But first, there’s a fleet of allied ships holding position outside this solar system. May we invite them to enter?” This last was directed at Commander Sulawe, who nodded assent.  
  
Some time afterward, Bendera, Mulcahey and the Saklat and Nihydron fleet captains were seated around a large conference table in a tall building on the Mawasi planet. Opposite them sat the Mawasi commander, the planet’s Grand Minister, Chakotay and Tuvok, whose sight, Bendera was relieved to see, had been restored. The Voyager crewmembers had had time to reunite and share their separate stories, and the remainder of the crew and senior staff were currently living it up at a feast the Mawasi had generously put together at short notice. As the representatives of each separate contingent, the eight people around the conference table were diving straight into tactical plans.  
  
Six Mawasi vessels had been fitted with the temporal shielding Kim and Tuvok had designed, and a schedule was being drawn up to install the shielding on the four Nihydron and three Saklat ships in the coming days. But Tuvok believed defensive capabilities against the Krenim weapon ship would not be enough. He was working directly with Captain Chakotay on designing a new offensive weapon, one that could rival the Krenim’s chroniton-based torpedoes in their ability to pass through standard shields. Neither Tuvok nor the Captain would be drawn on what technology was being used to create the new weapon.  
  
When they broke for the night, Bendera caught up to Mulcahey in the corridor. “Hey, Lieutenant,” he murmured. “Is it just me, or is there something shady going on?”  
  
Mulcahey shrugged. “Maybe the Captain just doesn’t want to get our hopes up about some experimental super-weapon that might not work.”  
  
“Maybe.” But Bendera found he couldn’t accept that, although he wasn’t sure what was causing him such unease.  
  
=/\=  
   
She felt stretched and sleek and lazy, like a cat lying in a patch of afternoon sun. Kathryn Janeway extended her arm and traced the curve of his shoulderblade with her fingertips. Tom Paris stirred beside her, and she watched the play of muscles under his skin as he rolled toward her, curving an arm around her waist. He pulled her close, teased her mouth with a slow, languid kiss, and grinned. “Hey there,” he murmured.  
  
“Hey,” she whispered back, and she gave him that crooked, tender smile that always made his heart pogo-jump into his throat. She squirmed a little closer and his grin widened. “Again?” he asked.  
  
With sudden and surprising strength, she pushed him down on the bed and straddled him, rocking her hips against him in a way that made him groan and harden immediately. “Again,” she confirmed, and bit her lower lip against a smile. Tom’s hands slid up to her breasts, his thumbs teasing her nipples, making her sigh and push herself into his hands. Her hair fell like a curtain around him as she leaned in and dragged her teeth lightly against his lower lip, then began to kiss and lick her way down his chest, his stomach. By the time her mouth reached lower, he was harder than duranium. He reached down and tangled his hands in her hair, anticipating the sensual torture he knew was coming, but she slipped out of his grasp and the next sensation he felt was her sharp white teeth against his hip. He jumped a little and she placed a hand firmly on his chest and held him still.  
  
He hadn’t thought he could get any harder, but he was wrong.  
  
He felt the tip of her tongue tracing the line of his hipbone and tried not to shiver. Her hair slid smoothly over his heated skin, she licked delicately at his inner thigh, and he said, “Please.”  
  
Relenting, she knelt beside him, sliding her hands over the planes of his stomach, finally curving her fingers around him. She held his cock reverently in her hands, then bent to take him in her mouth. Tom moaned ecstatically, his hands in her hair, guiding her. She tasted him, using her tongue and teeth to wring small gasps from him. She almost choked on her own delight.  
  
“Oh Jesus, stop now,” he warned her. She raised her head; her lips were wet and her eyes dark blue and he almost came just from looking at her. “Come here,” he said, his voice gravelly. She slid smoothly up the length of his body and gave him a small, self-satisfied smirk. In answer he trapped her legs between his own and flipped her onto her back, pinning her arms above her head with one hand. With the other he lazily explored her body, tugging lightly at her nipples, skimming over her belly, slipping his fingers between her thighs until she squirmed. She was slick and ready for him, and he grinned. “This is not going to be gentle,” he told her, and then he pushed her thighs apart and thrust inside her in one long move. She cried out and arched her back and he stilled for a moment, afraid he might have hurt her, but then she gasped, “ _Don’t_ stop,” and so he drew out and plunged inside her again, and again, until she screamed and dug her fingernails into his back and shuddered in his arms.  
  
When they finally broke apart and lay still, sweat cooling on their skin, heart rates slowing, Kathryn Janeway thought about the previous few weeks and wondered what in the universe gave her the right to this tiny corner of paradise.  
  
She couldn’t have imagined this. For the fourth time in her life she had lost almost everyone who meant something to her; she was a prisoner of the man who had killed almost everybody she knew in this damned corner of the galaxy; and yet there was Tom. She couldn’t have imagined him.  
  
She turned her head to look at him. He lay on his back, one arm trailing over the edge of the bed, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling. “Tom?” she whispered.  
  
Her only answer was his soft, even breathing. She smiled. He always catnapped after sex. She didn’t mind; it meant he woke refreshed and ready to go again. She propped herself on one elbow and gazed at him – his tousled sandy hair, the long eyelashes resting on his cheek, the lips she couldn’t help but want to kiss. Something fierce welled up in her, something she wasn’t sure she wanted to analyse. She turned it over carefully in her mind, and finally admitted she knew its name. She was falling for this man, and she wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or take her heart in her hands and jump.  
  
=/\=  
  
Captain Chakotay hoisted himself up the ladder to the upper-level Engineering office on Voyager. “Progress, Tuvok?”  
  
The Vulcan turned, and Chakotay experienced again the relief he’d felt ever since Tuvok’s eyesight had been restored and his gaze could once again fix on a person’s eyes, rather than staring blankly through them. “I believe I have managed to sufficiently reduce the size of the phasing coils,” Tuvok replied. “I have installed plasma infusers in four torpedo casings and collected sufficient warp plasma from the nacelles. I am confident we are ready to test the weapons.”  
  
Chakotay nodded. “How will you proceed?”  
  
“I propose to take a shuttlecraft to a point several light years distant, where there is an area containing a series of astral eddies which should camouflage the weapons tests from sensors. I will require a pilot.” Tuvok met Chakotay’s eyes. “The logical choice would be Ensign Seska.”  
  
“No,” Chakotay said flatly. “I don’t want any questions until the weapons have been tested successfully. I’ll be your pilot.”  
  
“Understood, sir.” Tuvok paused. “If I may speak freely, Captain?”  
  
“Go ahead.”  
  
“I am curious. How did you come up with the idea for phased plasma torpedoes?”  
  
And there it was: the moment Chakotay had been anticipating, and dreading, since he first ordered Tuvok to construct the weapons from the somewhat sketchy schematics Chakotay had provided him from memory. It had, after all, been almost three years since Dari Ajuta, his former aide, had handed Chakotay the PADD containing the specifications for the Romulan phased plasma torpedoes Section 31 had been intending to install in the Liberty. Now was the moment Chakotay would have to decide, once and for all, whether he trusted Tuvok, or whether he still believed the Vulcan could be a spy.  
  
Chakotay looked at his first officer, his former tactical officer, his friend, and said, “You may want to sit down, Tuvok. I have a pretty incredible story to tell.”  
  
=/\=  
  
In her newly-restored quarters, Ensign Seska listened intently; she had been forced to tap into the comm system in Engineering by way of the internal sensor relays, and the quality of the signal left something to be desired. This, however, was a conversation she did not intend to miss.  
  
When Chakotay had finished speaking she disconnected the comm line and sat back in her chair. She took a moment to collect her thoughts, and then she knew what she must do.  
  
  
**Stardate 49021.5**  
  
**\- Day 283 -**  
  
Paris was alone in the anteroom when Obrist entered; Janeway was in her quarters taking a very long shower, and he was savouring a few moments to himself to reflect on the past two months. Despite the circumstances that had brought them here and the fact that, no matter how luxurious their accommodation, it was still a prison, he could not remember ever feeling such pure happiness. His peace was shattered the moment he saw Obrist’s face.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
Obrist was having trouble finding words. Eventually, he thrust a tablet toward Paris. Tom looked at it and his face froze. It displayed the moment of Voyager’s destruction. “What is this?” he asked harshly.  
  
Obrist tapped at the screen and a series of numbers scrolled; Paris’ eyes blurred. “Explain,” he demanded.  
  
“Voyager was never destroyed,” Obrist said bluntly. “My captain falsified the readings. It was a holographic projection. The evidence file was hidden under several layers of encryption.”  
  
Paris thought he might be sick; he swallowed, hard. “Who knew about this?”  
  
“Annorax. The crewman he ordered to fire on Voyager, I assume. Perhaps others.”  
  
“But not you,” Paris said.  
  
Obrist shook his head. “My captain no longer trusts me. He is aware I have had misgivings about our continued mission. I have been deliberating whether to show you this for some time. But I can no longer stand aside while Annorax continues to bend the space-time continuum to his will. My hope is that we can contact your ship and enlist their assistance to stop him. But we must hurry.”  
  
“Why?” Tom said sharply.  
  
“You may not be aware that Annorax initiated another incursion several weeks ago. I could not understand the purpose of it, so I investigated. It was that investigation that led me to this discovery.” He indicated the tablet. “His purpose was to resurrect a species that created a very advanced type of astrometric probe. I surmised that Annorax wished to use this technology to locate Voyager and destroy it in reality.” Obrist paused. “I believe he has already employed it, and may be close to finding your ship.”  
  
Paris went cold.  
  
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “Why bother with the deception? Annorax must have known we would never help him find Voyager. Why make us believe it was destroyed?”  
  
Obrist shook his head. “Annorax is deranged. He believes absolutely in the legitimacy of his mission, in the sovereignty of the Krenim Imperium. Your crewmate questioned both that belief and his sanity. In return, the captain wished her to suffer as he has suffered for the past two centuries.”  
  
Paris had never wanted to kill anyone as much as he wanted to kill Annorax at that moment. “So how do we proceed?” he asked Obrist when he was able to speak again.  
  
“I will help you to send a covert message to Voyager. You can access the communications array from this terminal.” He gestured to the console in the anteroom. “Tell them to proceed on an intercept course and prepare to mount a coordinated assault. Voyager’s weapons will have no effect on this ship while it remains out of phase with the space-time continuum, so we must disable the temporal core from within when Voyager attacks. It will require precise timing.”  
  
“And how are we supposed to take the temporal core offline without setting off every alarm on the ship?”  
  
“Leave that to me.” Obrist straightened, and reached out to clasp Paris’ shoulder. “We, the Krenim, have done great harm to you and your crew, among countless others. I would like to do something to make amends.” He let go. “I will leave you to advise your commander now.”  
  
Janeway came into the anteroom shortly after Obrist left. Her hair hung to her waist now and her skin looked scrubbed fresh. She wore a lightweight blue tunic that matched her eyes, soft leather boots and a smile. “Hey,” she said softly as she came toward him and leaned up for a kiss, and then she saw his face. “Tom, what is it?”  
  
“It’s Voyager,” he said, knowing the only way to say it was just to say it. “Annorax faked the attack. Voyager was never destroyed.”  
  
He watched the colour drain from her face. “They’re alive?”  
  
He nodded, and she swayed on her feet. For a moment he thought she might faint, and he caught her hands. “Kat,” he said urgently. She focused on his face and slowly the colour returned to her skin and he watched as her eyes hardened, darkening to a steel grey. She withdrew her hands.  
  
He repeated Obrist’s explanation and watched as she drew herself upright, her eyes snapping fury. She turned away from him and strode to the viewport, staring outward, her fists clenched. When she finally turned to face him again, her voice was ice. “Send the message,” she said, and then she walked back into her quarters and locked the door.  
  
She did not come to his bed that night.  
  
=/\=  
  
Most of Voyager’s senior officers, plus Bendera and Mulcahey, waited around the table in the newly-repaired briefing room. The Captain had summoned them to an urgent meeting, and now only he and Ensign Kim were absent.  
  
When they entered, Bendera could tell at once that there had been a seachange. Chakotay sat at the head of the table and nodded to Kim. “Take it away, Harry.”  
  
Kim was almost bouncing in his chair. “We’ve received a transmission,” he announced. “I’ve analysed the carrier frequency. It contains a classified Starfleet identity code that can only have come from Lieutenant Paris. It’s real.” He broke into a grin.  
  
It was a testament to their training that the officers around the table did no more than murmur. Chakotay held up a hand anyway. “We’ll celebrate later. Paris sent a set of coordinates that should lead us directly to the weapon ship.”  
  
“Its location?” asked Tuvok.  
  
“Approximately fifty light years from here. The fleet should reach the coordinates in four weeks at warp six. Once we’re in range, Tom says he’ll try to take the weapon ship’s temporal core offline. When that happens they’ll be vulnerable to conventional weapons. Tom will then transmit the exact location of the core, and we’ll disable the ship and get our people out. Clear?”  
  
There was a chorus of “yes, sir”s around the table.  
  
“Good. I don’t imagine Annorax will make it easy for us, so the fleet will keep temporal shielding up at all times. Mulcahey, Bendera, work with Mr Tuvok to devise a fleet formation suitable for our allies. The Mawasi ships are capable of carrying additional armaments so we’ll outfit them with extra torpedo cannons. The Saklat vessels are small and highly manoeuvrable. It might be best if they take point when we attack. The Nihydron …” He stopped. “I’ll stop doing your jobs for you. Dismissed. Tuvok, please remain behind.”  
  
They filed out, and when the room was otherwise empty Tuvok turned to Chakotay. “I presume you wish to discuss the use of the phased plasma torpedoes,” he said.  
  
“Yes.” Chakotay tapped his fingers on the table, thinking. “Considering the security implications, I’d prefer to avoid using them if at all possible.”  
  
“The Krenim ship is invulnerable to conventional weapons as long as it remains outside of normal space-time,” Tuvok said. “The new plasma torpedoes would enable us to deliver their payload by phasing out of the space-time continuum to penetrate the ship’s hull, and re-emerging at the exact coordinates of the temporal core. However, if Lieutenant Paris can disable the core, the phased torpedoes may not be required.”  
  
Chakotay nodded. “Ready them anyway. Failure of this mission is not an option,” he emphasised. “Dismissed.”  
  
It was only when he was alone that Chakotay allowed himself to give in to his relief, his joy, at finally knowing they were alive and well. Tom Paris, the misfit who’d touched something protective inside Chakotay, some feeling of kinship. And Kathryn. Somehow, he’d always known on some deep hidden level that she was alive. He’d known it because his heart was still beating.  
  
=/\=  
  
It took time and concentration to encode the message, to direct it through the convoluted pathways she had devised and to the Krenim timeship. Concentration she had, but time she did not. Fortunately she was sufficiently competent in the procedure, and working under pressure had always been her strong suit.  
  
Within three hours of Voyager receiving Tom Paris’ communication, Annorax had received one of his own.  
  
  
**Stardate 49031.5**  
  
**\- Day 291 -**  
  
Ensign Kim stood at attention in Chakotay’s ready room. “Report, Ensign,” Chakotay ordered.  
  
“Captain, we’ve received another coded message from Lieutenant Paris,” he replied. “The timeship is on an intercept course. We will encounter them approximately seven days earlier than expected.”  
  
“They are, huh?” Chakotay leaned back in his chair. “Coincidence?”  
  
“No, sir.” Kim looked stressed. “Tom – uh, Lieutenant Paris – says Annorax is coming after us.”  
  
“Interesting,” stated Tuvok.  
  
“Lieutenant?” queried Chakotay.  
  
“Our last encounter with the weapon ship was almost eight months ago,” Tuvok stated. “Voyager suffered extreme damage in that attack, and was not in combat-ready condition for some time afterwards. If Annorax wished to destroy us, that opportunity offered his highest chance of success.”  
  
“Maybe he couldn’t find us.”  
  
“It is likely,” Tuvok replied, and Chakotay suddenly realised what he was getting at. “Which begs the question: how has he found us now?”  
  
Chakotay tucked that away for further analysis – later, when he had time. “The important thing is that we’re now far better prepared. We have a fleet of fourteen heavily armed ships with strong defensive capabilities. He won’t be able to swat us down like a fly, not this time.”  
  
“I concur.” Tuvok segued into his report on the fleet’s readiness. Battle drills were being executed regularly, and all weapons and shields were at full capacity. Chakotay nodded, satisfied. They would be ready.  
  
=/\=  
  
If the previous two months had been a kind of paradise, the past eight days had become Tom Paris’ own private hell.  
  
It was eight days since they’d properly talked, and eight long, desolate nights since he’d touched her. From the moment Janeway had found out that Voyager was still out there, she’d built a wall around herself that he couldn’t chip through no matter what tactic he tried. All she would talk about was how they would get back to their ship, and how they would take Annorax down. She maintained that Annorax’s interference with the natural course of history had to be stopped, and she became determined that the only way to ensure that was the destruction of the weapon ship.  
  
Paris agreed, and for the first few days he was as motivated as she to devise a plan to achieve that. He also tried to be understanding about her need for physical distance; he’d seen her struggling with shock before, and he knew that self-containment was her protection protocol. After a while, though, he began to realise that she was deliberately maintaining her distance from him. If he leaned over her shoulder to help her with a navigational computation on the tablet, she immediately got up and moved away. If he passed her a plate at the dinner table, she manoeuvred herself so that their fingers would not touch. And once, when she was brushing her hair and he forgot himself and reached out to run his fingers through it, she jerked away as if he’d burned her. From then on he never saw her with her hair out of its regimented bun.  
  
On the eighth day he couldn’t stand it any longer, so he went to find her in the arboretum. She looked up warily as he sat beside her on her favoured bench seat, placing her tablet on the bench beside her. He waited for her to speak. She didn’t, but she also didn’t move away.  
  
“You know, I miss leola root,” he said, out of the blue, and was gratified when she looked directly into his eyes for the first time in days, wrinkling her nose. He nodded. “It’s true. All the one of a kind delicacies on this ship’s menu, all the priceless bottles of wine, and I’m longing for a good honest bowl of the scourge of the Delta quadrant. Why do you think that is?”  
  
She smiled, faintly. “Maybe it’s because it tastes like home.”  
  
“Yeah.” He stretched out his legs, crossed at the ankle. “I wonder how Neelix is doing. You think he’s talked Tuvok into letting him wear a security uniform yet?”  
  
“If anyone could wear Tuvok down, it would probably be Neelix.”  
  
“I never returned Harry’s book,” he realised.  
  
“His book?”  
  
“He lent me his copy of _Madame Bovary_. Said it was one of his favourites, but I never got past the first couple of chapters.”  
  
She raised her eyebrows. “You should have kept reading.”  
  
“How come?”  
  
“Well.” She played with the hem of her tunic. “Let’s just say it gets more … stimulating. I have to say, I didn’t think Ensign Kim had it in him.”  
  
“Maybe B’Elanna’s taught him a thing or two.”  
  
She turned to stare at him again. “B’Elanna Torres? And Harry Kim?”  
  
He smiled. “You didn’t know?”  
  
“No, I didn’t,” she said, and he suspected she was more surprised at her ignorance than at the seemingly unlikely pairing.  
  
Tom shrugged. “They were pretty discreet, I guess. Didn’t want to force Chakotay to stop turning a blind eye.”  
  
She said nothing for a while, and just as he was about to say something else, she spoke in a choked voice and he realised she was trembling. “Captain Chakotay,” she said, fingers twisting in her lap, “would not condone a relationship between members of the senior staff. Especially when one party is in direct command of the other.”  
  
“I guess it’s lucky Harry doesn’t report directly to B’Elanna, then,” Paris said, and then he realised what she was saying and felt his stomach lurch. “Oh, hell,” he said quietly. “Kat, please don’t.”  
  
He stretched out a hand to her but she was suddenly standing, out of his reach. Her voice was perfectly even as she said, “When was Obrist’s last report on the status of the core shutdown program?”  
  
She watched him wrestling to control his emotions, watched him stand to face her, feet slightly apart, hands clasped behind his back; parade rest. “This morning. He estimates he’ll have it complete by tomorrow.”  
  
“Good,” she said, and swallowed hard, lifted her chin and forced herself to look into his eyes. “You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”  
  
“Aye, Commander,” Paris said, and she turned away from the ache in his eyes.  
  
  
**Stardate 49043.6**  
  
**\- Day 305 -**  
  
“Sir, I’m detecting several vessels approaching,” Obrist announced.  
  
“Identify them,” Annorax ordered.  
  
Obrist scanned the readouts and did his best to sound surprised. “Sir, It’s Voyager, with a fleet of Mawasi, Nihydron and Saklat vessels … But, sir, Voyager was destroyed. I saw it with my own eyes.”  
  
“Then perhaps it’s time to stop believing everything you see,” Annorax replied without turning. “Full power to shields. Arm chroniton torpedoes.”  
  
“Captain, there are fourteen heavily-armed ships in that fleet, and they have a defence against our torpedoes. We will be outgunned.”  
  
“As long as this ship remains out of phase, they cannot touch us. Power up the temporal weapon and stand by for multiple incursions.”  
  
Annorax settled more comfortably into his chair.  
  
“Let them come.”  
  
=/\=  
  
“Harry, anything from Paris yet?”  
  
“Not yet, Captain.” Kim was biting his lip. _Come on, Tom_ , he pleaded silently.  
  
“Status, Mr Ayala?”  
  
“The Krenim ship is approaching on vector three two one mark four. Time to intercept, three minutes.”  
  
Chakotay stood and nodded at Kim to activate the comm system. “This is Captain Chakotay to the fleet,” he announced. “All ships, bring your temporal shields online and proceed in standard formation. We will enter weapons range in less than three minutes.”  
  
He waited for the acknowledgements, then Kim closed the channel, switching to shipwide. “Red alert,” Chakotay said. “All hands, secure systems and prepare to engage the enemy.” He sat, glancing at Tuvok, sitting in Janeway’s chair. _Soon_ , he told himself, _soon she’ll be back where she belongs_.  
  
“We’ve entered weapons range,” Ayala said from tactical. “The weapon ship has powered its chroniton torpedoes.”  
  
“Battle stations,” said the Captain.  
  
=/\=  
  
“Come on, come on,” Paris muttered to himself, fingers flying over the console. “Encrypt, you bastard … _Yes_ ,” he finished triumphantly. “I’ve sent Voyager the coordinates of the temporal core. Ensign Kim is confirming.”  
  
Janeway stopped pacing long enough to nod. “Good work. Anything from Obrist?”  
  
“Nothing yet.” Paris didn’t take his eyes off the console. “He has to bypass several layers of security even to get into the core controls. If someone detects it before he can get in …” He let the sentence trail off.  
  
Janeway moved to stand next to him. “There has to be something we can do from here.” She started tapping commands into the console. “If I can just tap into their power relays, maybe I can access the core shield matrix –”  
  
“Wait,” he said urgently. “If you trip the alarm there’ll be a dozen guards here within ten seconds. Give Obrist a chance.”  
  
“I can’t just sit here doing nothing,” she snapped back fiercely. “I have to –”  
  
She was cut off by the lurching of the deck beneath her feet as the timeship was rocked by weapons fire.  
  
=/\=  
  
“We’re in weapons range,” reported Ayala.  
  
“Let’s see if Tom has done his part. Attack pattern gamma,” Chakotay ordered, and the fleet broke formation. Voyager took point, Seska rolling her through a series of stomach-dropping manoeuvres as they pummelled the timeship with phaser fire. The Mawasi cruisers followed, pulse cannons firing, scattering blooms of light across the Krenim shields. The Saklat ships, small and nimble, swooped and dived, targeting specific points in their attempt to weaken the shields, and the huge Nihydron warships ran interference, protecting Voyager and the Saklat from retaliatory fire.  
  
“Minimal damage to their shields,” Ayala said. “Their temporal core is stable. Our shields are down to sixty percent. Damage reports are coming in from the fleet … One Saklat vessel is dead in space, the Nihydron have taken heavy damage, and the two rear Mawasi ships are losing temporal shields.”  
  
“Evasive pattern beta-five,” Chakotay said. “We’re going to have to wait.”  
  
=/\=  
  
She found herself balanced in Tom Paris’ arms, clutching his shoulders to stay upright. “You okay?” he asked. His face was very close to hers, the concern in his blue eyes disarming her. She nodded, a little breathless, and told herself it was simply from being thrown off-balance.  
  
He set her on her feet and she moved immediately back to the console. “No change to the temporal core. What is Obrist _doing_?”  
  
“Everything he can, I’m sure,” Tom said evenly.  
  
She whipped her head around. “How can you be so damned calm about this?”  
  
“Have a little faith,” he retorted, annoyance creasing his forehead.  
  
“Faith,” she snorted. “Voyager could be destroyed at any moment if your Krenim buddy can’t get it together and do his part.”  
  
“He will,” Paris repeated. She had turned back to the console and was trying again to tap into the power grid. Failing again, she slammed her hand down on the display panel, then turned the Janeway death glare on him.  
  
For once, it failed to quell him; he gave her back a glare of his own. “Stop meddling,” he ordered her.  
  
Her cheeks flushed and she stepped toward him. “Watch your tone, Lieutenant.”  
  
He stood his ground. “You’re not angry at me,” he told her flatly. “So stop taking it out on me.”  
  
That stopped her short. _He’s right_ , she thought, her anger fading. She looked at him properly, standing tall and straight before her, blue eyes resolute. She felt ashamed. Tom Paris had been the target of her misdirected temper too many times, and whatever happened next, she knew she had to stop taking his forbearance for granted.  
  
“I apologise, Lieutenant,” she said.  
  
“That’s better,” he said as the flush faded from her cheekbones and the stormclouds in her eyes returned to blue. “Oh, and one more thing.”  
  
He moved so quickly she hadn’t even registered it before he had her in his arms and was kissing her as though their lives depended on it.  
  
=/\=  
  
“Incoming subspace signal,” Obrist reported.  
  
Annorax had been expecting this. “Route it directly to my station.”  
  
He read the short message and stood, addressing a crewman. “Tersin, lock onto these precise coordinates. On my command, initiate transport of one life form directly to the bridge.”  
  
“Captain?” asked Obrist in alarm. “Who are we transporting?”  
  
“That’s none of your concern.” Annorax didn’t even bother to look at him.  
  
“Sir.” Obrist left his station and stood quivering with indignation before his captain. “I am your first officer. I cannot adequately serve you unless you keep me informed.”  
  
His captain fixed him with a gimlet glare. “Obrist, you have not served me adequately for some time. You are relieved.” He nodded to two security officers. “Take him to the brig.”  
  
As the guards took him by the elbows and marched him off the bridge, Obrist’s sole regret was not of his failure to serve his captain, but that he had failed to deactivate the temporal core, and in doing so had almost certainly condemned Paris and Janeway to eternal captivity and the Voyager fleet to obliteration.  
  
=/\=  
  
“Attack pattern alpha,” Chakotay ordered, and the fleet made another swooping pass at the weapon ship, firing repeatedly.  
  
“No damage to the weapon ship,” Ayala reported. “The temporal core remains stable. They are returning fire … Two Saklat ships have been destroyed. One Nihydron cruiser’s warp core is overloading. The lead Mawasi vessel’s shields have been disabled and their weapons are offline. Voyager has sustained damage to the starboard nacelle and Engineering reports several EPS conduits have blown out. No casualties. Our shields are at fifty-two percent.”  
  
“Damn it,” Chakotay muttered. “This is not going according to plan.”  
  
He stood and addressed Lieutenant Tuvok. “I think we have to assume we won’t get any help from inside the weapon ship. Implement protocol gamma six red.” Tuvok nodded and pulled his console toward him, entering commands. Chakotay tapped his commbadge. “Transporter room, on my command, get a lock on our people on the Krenim ship and beam them over here immediately.”  
  
~Acknowledged,~ Ensign Ming replied.  
  
“Ready,” Tuvok said.  
  
Chakotay nodded. “Allied fleet, this is Captain Chakotay. All ships, fall back. We’ll take it from here.”  
  
He waited until the straggling fleet had reached a safe distance, then said to Tuvok, “Fire.”  
  
Two torpedoes left the Voyager launchers on a direct course to the Krenim weapon ship, then disappeared.  
  
“Status?” Chakotay asked.  
  
“The torpedoes are on course. Ten seconds to rephase coordinates.”  
  
“Uh, Captain?” Ensign Kim couldn’t keep silent any longer. “May I ask what’s going on?”  
  
“You may not,” Chakotay said shortly.  
  
“Rephasing,” Tuvok reported. “Impact in three, two, one –”  
  
The Voyager bridge crew, with the exception of Chakotay and Tuvok, watched open-mouthed as onscreen, the weapon ship began to shake.  
  
“Direct hit on the temporal core,” announced Tuvok. “The Krenim ship is returning to normal space-time.”  
  
“Chakotay to Ming,” the Captain said urgently. “Energise.”  
  
=/\=  
  
“Initiate transport,” Annorax ordered, just as his operations officer called out in alarm, “Sir, two high-yield plasma torpedoes just exploded inside the temporal core. We are phasing back into the space-time continuum!”  
  
“What?” Annorax snapped. His ship groaned and lurched, and a chain of small explosions blossomed at a console behind him and travelled the circumference of the bridge. He heard cries of pain. A crewman landed, dead, at his feet.  
  
“Transport has failed, sir,” Crewman Tersin reported, his voice shaking. “I am unable to lock onto the coordinates … Transporters are down.”  
  
Annorax was on his feet. “Who fired those torpedoes?”  
  
“They came from Voyager, Captain.” The operations officer had to shout to be heard above the mayhem on the bridge. “The torpedoes momentarily phased out of normal space-time, penetrated our shields and rephased inside the temporal core.” He stared at his captain, his eyes growing wide with horror. “A temporal incursion is beginning inside the ship.”  
  
=/\=  
  
She felt the familiar tingle of dematerialisation and wrenched herself away from his kiss. They rematerialised, separated, on Voyager’s transporter pad. Janeway dragged an arm across her mouth, her breath gone. She was trembling.  
  
~Chakotay to transporter room,~ she heard, and at the first sound of his voice in eight months she felt faint. ~Do you have them?~  
  
“I have them, sir,” replied Ensign Ming from the transporter controls, grinning widely at them. Janeway tried to smile at him.  
  
~Welcome home,~ he said, and she knew he was addressing her. ~Report to the bridge immediately, Commander, Lieutenant. Chakotay out.~  
  
She felt Voyager shudder and strain and realised that whoever was at the helm was wrenching the ship into a roll to evade the Krenim torpedoes. “Jesus,” muttered Paris, at her side. “Who the hell is flying my ship?”  
  
She didn’t reply, and as they stood side by side in the turbolift on the way to the bridge, they didn’t look at each other once.  
  
=/\=  
  
“Captain,” Tuvok warned. “The temporal incursion will destroy the weapon ship in less than two minutes. The shockwave will extend throughout this sector, impacting all vessels, planets and life forms in its path. I theorise that it will effect a complete restoration of the space-time continuum to its original timeline. Any alterations Annorax has caused may be reverted.”  
  
Chakotay stood silent for a moment, thinking. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Tuvok?”  
  
Tuvok stood slowly, facing him, searching his eyes. “The temporal prime directive would seem to apply.”  
  
“I agree,” Chakotay said quietly. He switched on the fleet-wide comm. “Chakotay to the fleet. Take your temporal shields offline. All hands, brace for impact.”  
  
“SirI” Harry Kim’s eyes were wide. “If they deactivate their shields, they won’t be protected from the temporal reversion.”  
  
“Exactly,” Chakotay answered. “When that ship implodes, all of history might be restored. And I’m sure this is one year all of us would like to forget.”  
  
=/\=  
  
Words could not do justice to her fury and resentment. All her careful planning, gone to waste in one fate-changing moment. There would be no escape for her now.  
  
But perhaps there was one thing she could do. In the chaos, nobody would notice her entering the pre-prepared commands into the helm controls, disguising their origin by routing them through several connected systems, and thwarting this Federation captain’s bleeding-heart, temporal prime directive idiocy once and for all.  
  
Bitterly, Seska executed her revenge.  
  
=/\=  
  
From deep in the bowels of the ship came a series of booming explosions, and the alert klaxon whined a warning. “Fifteen seconds til catastrophic core breach,” shouted Tersin. The entire ship creaked, and crewmen were flung to the deck as metal whined and the hull began to come apart.  
  
Annorax stumbled into his office, eyes fixed on his goal. The small glass pyramid that held the lock of auburn hair tumbled from his desk and shattered on the floor. As he watched, the lock of hair shimmered and dissolved from history.  
  
Annorax’s visceral howl of defeat was cut short by Obrist’s knife slicing into his throat.  
  
=/\=  
  
Janeway and Paris entered onto a bridge that, while in better shape than the last time either of them had seen it, was nevertheless a scene of controlled disarray. Chakotay turned, but had no time to do more than nod before Ensign Kim interrupted. “Temporal shockwave approaching. Impact in ten seconds.”  
  
“Report,” Janeway demanded, as she crossed to her chair. Tuvok stood to vacate it for her and she took a fleeting second to note that he could actually see her, and smiled, and then he answered, “The weapon ship has been destroyed. A temporal incursion has occurred within its core.”  
  
“Shield status?” Chakotay asked tensely.  
  
“Shields are down,” Kim answered, then stopped. “Sir, shields are up! The temporal shielding is at one hundred percent!”  
  
The Captain opened his mouth to demand answers, but before he could utter a word, the shockwave hit.  
  
=/\=  
  
  
**Epilogue: Stardate 49045.1**  
  
After the debriefs, the stories and the welcome home party, the Captain summoned his first officer and tactical chief to his ready room. “Take a seat,” he offered, indicating the couch. He went to the replicator and ordered drinks without asking their preferences: black coffee for Janeway, Vulcan tea for Tuvok.  
  
He sat, sipped his own herbal tea blend, then spoke. “Commander, as soon as you’re completely up to speed your first priority will be to organise repair teams. Have all team leaders forward me their estimates when ready. Then I want you to work on scanning the surrounding sectors to identify and analyse changes in the timeline.”  
  
He gazed into his tea. The temporal incursion, from which Voyager had been completely protected, had resulted in the disappearance of their entire allied fleet. Perhaps those species – the Mawasi, the Saklat, the Nihydron - had never been meant to exist, but that didn’t help him feel any less responsible. It was an ethical and philosophical quandary that he knew would result in many, many sleepless nights. And, more personally, those people had been his friends.  
  
On the upside, the total Krenim population in the surrounding sectors was a paltry twelve billion scattered across two planets. The Krenim appeared to live in relative harmony with the Rilnar, a species of technological capability at a similar level to the Federation, and with similar ideals.  
  
“Start scouting for sources of dilithium, tritanium and whatever other substances Lieutenant Torres has on her wishlist. Also, make contact with the Rilnar. We could use some friends around here.”  
  
“Aye, Captain,” Janeway replied.  
  
Chakotay turned to Tuvok. “Lieutenant, I have a different assignment for you. We have a mystery to solve.”  
  
“Indeed.” Tuvok raised an eyebrow. “I anticipated your request and have commenced an investigation into how Voyager’s temporal shields were restored.”  
  
“Conclusions?”  
  
“None at this time, Captain, except to note that the person or persons responsible appear to be very familiar with Voyager’s systems, and highly skilled in computer manipulation.” He paused. “During my time with Starfleet Intelligence, I learned many techniques of covert system interference. This person’s skills far exceed my own in that area.”  
  
Chakotay nodded. “Carry on, then. Dismissed.”  
  
Tuvok departed.  
  
Janeway was already entering data into her PADD, coffee forgotten on the table beside her. Chakotay watched her for a long moment. She was thinner than when she’d been captured, her hair longer, and there was something else different about her. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but his instincts told him she was suffering from some private unhappiness. Her report had stated that, aside from their solitary confinement during the first few weeks of their imprisonment, she and Paris had not been harmed, but he wondered if he’d ever know what had really happened to her.  
  
“Kate,” he said, gently, and she looked up, realised he was watching her, and placed the PADD on the table. He held out a hand, and after a hesitation she took it and he linked his fingers with hers.  
  
“I missed you,” he said, and smiled at her, and then to his profound surprise, she threw her arms around his neck and clutched him to her so fiercely he had to catch his breath.  
  
=/\=  
  
The door to his quarters chimed, and Tom knew it was her. He said, “Come in.”  
  
She took three steps into the room, and stopped. He looked at her. She was in uniform, her hair twisted on top of her head. Her chin was lifted and her mouth firm, but when he looked into her eyes he saw that they were wide and dark with misery.  
  
“You’re here to dump me, aren’t you,” he stated.  
  
She struggled to compose herself. “I’m your commanding officer. I can’t be in a relationship with a subordinate. Starfleet protocols –”  
  
“ _Fuck_ protocol,” he said harshly, stepping toward her. “I love you.”  
  
Her breath hitched, her mouth trembled, but she met his gaze and didn’t waver. His hands itched to touch her; he reached for her, but she stepped quickly out of his reach. “Don’t do this, Kat,” he implored.  
  
“I have to.”  
  
The image of her blurred before his eyes.  
  
“You’re breaking my heart,” he said quietly.  
  
“I know,” she whispered. “Goodbye, Tom.”  
  
“Goodbye, Kat,” he said to the empty room.


End file.
